Love, Kindness, and Other Useless Things
by KillianJones
Summary: CS AU, set in 1815. - Lord Killian Jones is haunted by the demons of his past which makes him nowhere near the man he once was, so he can't be the father he wants to be. And above all, he believes he is undeserving of love. Perhaps with Emma that is all about to change. But falling in love is never easy, that's just how it is. / (M for language, alcohol, and later chapters.)
1. One

_Late October, 1815._

Emma stood in front of the gate and stared at the grand mansion. She didn't know what she expected - the newspaper ad had not exactly specified the size of the house, nor household - but it was definitely not this.

She'd never seen a house this large before, not even the orphanage she grew up in. Then again, Emma had never left the city before and mansions like these did not exist in the city. The mansion appeared to have two floors, judging by the windows, and one tower on the far left side. Most of the windows seemed to reach from the floor to the ceiling and the cream-coloured curtains were drawn on almost all of them.

Ivy in all sorts of autumn colours climbed up the mansion's dark ivory coloured walls. The estate was surrounded by trees and endless gardens covered in the fallen autumn leaves, which was perhaps a little surprising, an estate such as this one surely had a gardener that would rake up the leaves, no? But what was more surprising, was the weather; it had not rained in a while, so rather than the garden looking like a big, sloppy mess, it almost seemed to invite you to take a stroll.

Emma took the carefully folded letter from her coat pocket and made sure she had the correct address. She would hate to fall in love with this place (perhaps she was already falling) and have it be the wrong address.

"Hey!" A brunette woman called out, she wore a dark blue dress, that was perhaps a little too long as it dragged over the ground and dragged along a few crispy leaves, her hands tucked in her dirty white apron as she walked over towards Emma. "Enjoying the view?"

"I..." Emma stammered, feeling her cheeks burn, no doubt colouring red.

The woman grinned, little wrinkles showing up around her eyes, she wasn't old per say - though she was older than Emma - she just looked like she laughed a lot. "Rest easy, I'm just teasing. Can I help you?"

"I'm Emma?" She tried, reaching through the gate to hand her the envelope that contained the invite. "I was supposed..." Emma started but realised quickly the brunette was not listening anymore, instead focused all her attention on the letter.

"Three thirty in the afternoon?" The woman mumbled, taking her pocket watch from her apron. "Dear me, is it that late already?" Her eyebrows raised upon seeing the time. "Goodness," she exclaimed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Emma cleared her throat, unsure if the woman had forgotten about her presence.

"Right on time," she laughed, looking up at the other woman, tilting her head slightly as if examining Emma. The woman had beautiful features, loosely curling dark brown hair, intense green eyes, a lovely smile, her lips a lovely shade of red. "Good," she then decided and finally opened up the gate. "Ruby," she introduced herself, extending a hand. "What was yours again?"

"Emma," She took the woman's warm hand and shook it once.

"Right," Ruby nodded, gesturing for her to follow. "Sodding leaves," she muttered, kicking a few out of the way. "The gardener retired a week ago, so far no decent man has applied yet," Ruby shrugged and took a deep breath before continuing to speak, allowing no room for Emma to speak - in all honesty, she wouldn't know what to reply anyway. "You are here for an interview for the position of nanny, no?"

"I am," Emma answered.

"I don't know why he scheduled you for today, if it was him who scheduled you at all," Ruby mumbled, more to herself. "Mr Jones isn't here right now, he might not return until next week."

"Oh..." Emma frowned. "Is he often gone that long?"

"Yes," The brunette replied, her smile never faltered as she spoke. Ruby had a kind smile, it made her feel comfortable and eased the nerves that had been building up since last night. "Lord Jones is more often than not out on business. I won't lie to you, Emma, I am going to make you an offer that he may not like at all, but we all have our tasks here, taking care of Grace makes everything so much harder. So here's the thing, if you would like to, you could stay already, to get used to the house, to Grace, see if you like the job at all. You will be compensated for your service, naturally."

"I can always use the money, even just for a week," Emma shrugged, quickly regaining her posture. She noticed the grin playing on Ruby's lips, but if she saw at all, she decided not to call her out on it. Or maybe a woman shrugging was but a trifle thing here and not frowned upon.

Instead, Ruby nodded, "In all honesty, Mr Jones is in desperate need of extra help, so if Grace likes you I believe your stay is as good as confirmed. You can use Charlotte's previous room."

"I am to live here?"

"Oh, you don't have to, but it is recommended, I must say. You have a room of your own, besides, you will likely have to stay the night here often enough when Mr Jones is off on a business trip again."

"And Charlotte was young Miss Grace's previous nanny?"

"That is correct."

"May I ask what happened?"

"Charlotte went on and found herself a husband. They wanted a family of their own, and her husband made enough money for her to stop working." Ruby explained, taking another look at Emma while fumbling in her apron for a bunch of keys. "You're younger than Miss Charlotte was, I believe. How old are you?"

"Twenty-four, Miss."

"Ah, yes, she was nearing her thirties, if I remember correctly. And don't call me 'Miss'," Ruby chuckled, "Among us we call each other by first names."

"I apologise," Emma lifted her skirt ever so slightly in order to be able to take larger steps so that she could keep up with Ruby's fast pace up the stairs leading to the front door.

"Don't worry, it's a learning process. The lord of the manor, of course, we address with Sir, Mr or Milord."

"What about the Mrs?"

"No Mrs I'm afraid," Ruby opened the large front door, using her body to do so. "And we don't talk about her. It's a sensitive subject." Emma nodded once. "Mr Jones will address you with Miss," Ruby continued, halting in the middle of the large foyer they now stood in. "Unless you are married, which I presume you are not?" Emma shook her head quickly. "Or if you have been here as long as myself."

The interior of the mansion was a mix of warm brown tones and soft white to beige tones. Before them was a grand, curved, dark wooden staircase that led to the first floor, way above them. The floor seemed to be entirely made of dark parquet flooring. There were hallways to both her left and right side.

"I don't really have the time to show you around, I need to pick up Grace in a moment, I will quickly say," Ruby pointed to her right, "Anything servant related is that way, everything else is the other way and upstairs." Ruby guided her through the right hallway, walking until they reached the double door in the back, pushing it open. "This is the kitchen," she stated the obvious. It was a big room, similar to the one from the orphanage. Though less crowded and not exactly designed for mass production of food. The four people present looked up briefly from their tasks to acknowledge Emma, but none of them introduced themselves. "You will not be here often, but it is an important room to remember."

Emma nodded and followed Ruby through the back. It was an extended hallway two doors on her left and another door in the far back. "First door is the laundry room," Ruby spoke as she walked right past it, "though I doubt you will be needing to be there often. The second door is the female bathroom. The last door leads west wing, it's where the servants bedrooms are as well as the male bathroom."

Once they reached the end of the hallway, nearing the door in the back, there was an entire hallway that extended so far it almost looked as if you needed at least five minutes to get to the other side of it. Windows stretched along the entire hallway, leaving it well-lit. Though save from a simple staircase, it was relatively empty. Curiosity took over for just a small moment, taking a step away from Ruby to look through the windows; they looked out to the garden, while many trees surrounded the domain, the one that caught her eye was an immense willow tree by the lake, currently it was coloured in the most stunning autumn colours.

"The staircase leads to the master and guest bedrooms. It is the servants' stairs, so you will not see Mr Jones use it often," Ruby explained, then urging Emma to follow her again, through the last door - it revealed yet another seemingly endless hallway, this one just as well lit due to the large amount of floor to ceiling windows.

While following Ruby through the mansion, it didn't take her long to notice that there weren't many paintings in the house. Most households would usually have at least one or two paintings of the family - and multiple paintings of scenery and such.

"Mr Jones took them down after the Mrs died," Ruby explained after Emma brought it up.

"All of them?"

Ruby nodded, "He was a very different man before his wife died. I mean, he's nice enough should you ask him something, but he doesn't smile a lot or he won't talk to you just to have a conversation anymore. Or for example, he used to play the piano a lot, now whenever someone touches the thing, he gets angry."

"That's sad," Emma said softly, her voice not quite a whisper. "And the girl?"

"Grace? She's lovely -"

"No, I mean, how does he treat the girl?"

"Ah," Ruby smiled, understanding. "He loves her, but sometimes it's clear he can't look at her without remembering the Mrs. He buys her lots of gifts as if he hopes that one day she will understand why he can't be the father he's supposed to be."

Ruby stopped at the sixth door, just a little before the middle of the hallway, and unlocked it, "this would be your room," Ruby handed her the key, "We usually don't lock the doors, but that is completely up to you." Emma nodded and accepted the key.

The room was empty, it was clear no one had been here in a while, though the bed was neatly made. She had a single, very comfortable looking bed, on the right side of the room. A wooden drawer next to it, and as well as a desk. The room wasn't necessarily big, but it sure was larger than what she was used to.

"All servant rooms look somewhat the same, but you are completely free to decorate it to your liking," Ruby's voice broke the silence softly. "I have to pick up Grace now, you are welcome to look around the house, there aren't any areas restricted or anything, but knock the doors first before pulling them open, just to be sure," Ruby winked. Emma smiled weakly, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. "She will adore you," Ruby assured her, "there is hardly a person she doesn't like."

"But it's not her I need to convince, though, right?"

"In a way she is. Mr Jones just wants someone who is good for his daughter," the brunette replied. "It'll work out, don't worry," she gave Emma a reassuring smile before leaving. Emma placed her bag on the desk, purposelessly walking around the room. The walls were a light shade of beige, her room - was it her room already? - did not have the gorgeous view the hallways had, but it did look out over autumn-coloured trees. In the Winter they would surely look lovely covered in snow and in Spring she would be able to see the birds.

Emma traced her fingers over the linen on her bed and pushed her hand down as if to subtly checking if it was indeed a comfortable bed. She realised then, that she was alone and sat down on the bed instead. It was a very comfortable bed. Emma couldn't help but smile, if anything, she would take the job just to have a room to herself with an incredibly enjoyable bed.

A knock on the door startled her, and it was then she realised how silent the house was compared to the city and the orphanage, or any other family she'd tried to nanny for, but didn't work out for various reasons that weren't her fault.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," a young woman with short black hair stood in the doorway - her doorway.

"It's all right," Emma rose to her feet, inviting the woman inside.

"Ruby said you had arrived, thought I might come introduce myself," she petite woman smiled. "My name is Mary Margaret, I work in the kitchen with Ruby."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Emma..." she trailed off, "But you knew that already, of course," Emma shook her head slightly. "Sorry, I'm nervous."

"That is understandable," Mary Margaret spoke, her voice sounded calm, a little motherly, it soothed Emma, to know that they were so welcoming and tried their best to make her feel at ease. "Would you like me to show you around, or would you prefer to venture out on your own?"

"Oh, if you are not busy, showing me around would be preferable," Emma laughed, having resented the idea of walking through the unknown mansion by herself from the moment Ruby suggested it. In all honesty, she was likely just going to sit on her bed until Ruby returned with Grace, however long that may be. Emma followed Mary Margaret out of her room.

"Have you seen anything at all?"

"Just the kitchen and my designated room."

Mary Margaret nodded, "Well, this entire hall is truthfully just servants' bedrooms. The bathroom at the end is the male bathroom, the female bathroom is in the beginning of the hall," she explained while walking down the hallway, her pace a lot slower than Ruby's.

Emma followed Mary Margaret until they once again stood in the grand foyer. "Seemed easier to start here, as a point of orientation," she said, walking to the left side of the staircase. "There are two salons, the grand and petit. The petit salon is downstairs, we use it to welcome guests."

Mary Margaret opened the double doors to a bright room, perhaps in a too strong contrast with the hallway they just came from, but stunning in its own way. The light flooring was almost entirely covered by a large rug. Three incredibly comfortable looking beige sofa's, each with their fair share of pillows, stood arranged around the fireplace.

"If there is a petit salon, there is also a grand salon?" Emma suggested.

"Yes, the grand salon is on the first floor. It isn't used as often as it had been once. Sometimes guests that are here on extended stay take their tea there. But more often than not, it is empty." Emma walked behind the other woman as she guided her through the hall, "The room in the back is Mr Jones' office, but he prefers we don't enter unless we have been invited. It is locked most of the time anyhow."

"All right," Emma replied, making a mental note of the floor plan. The kitchen, a long hallway, the petit salon and Mr Jones' office were on the ground floor and looked out to the front yard. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to remember.

"This is the sunroom," Mary Margaret said after a moment of walking, "Though it isn't often used," She opened the door, revealing a sun-warmed room, the colour scheme was rather blank, with colours varying from white to the beige of the sofa that was the same sofa used in the petit salon.

"The sunroom faces North?" Emma asked, looking around the room. "What an odd choice…"

Mary Margaret chuckled softly, almost a giggle, "The architect mustn't have been very clever."

The opposite wall consisted entirely out of windows, the right wall had windows as well, but rather than looking out over part of the garden, there was another room behind it. It was hard to see, for the windows were mostly covered in ivy. "It's sad that this room is not often used. I quite like it. Before Mrs Jones died it was, though, they would go for a swim and come here to have tea," Mary Margaret smiled sadly but shook her head. Emma saw that the room next door was, in fact, a pool, though it was empty and many of the plants had wildly overgrown, multiple ivy plants covering the windows. The room appeared to be made entirely out of glass, even the ceiling, which would allow the sun to warm up the room all day and probably leave the water pleasantly warm until the late evening.

"It is sad that he let it get to this, I am sure swimming there would have been a delight," Emma replied, her thoughts wandering, even if she didn't know how to swim, perhaps to simply sit there with a book.

"Yes," Mary Margaret agreed, "He became rather closed off when she died, locking away all evidence of her."

"How long has it been since she passed away?"

"Nearly seven years," Mary Margaret pursed her lips, then nodded. "Grace's birthday is the third of December."

"She died in childbirth?" Emma asked softly, following her out of the sunroom.

Mary Margaret nodded but didn't speak of it further instead she stepped across the hall, opening another door. "This is the servant's area. We come here to repose a bit, talk, have tea, those things," she explained. The servant's area was just another grand room, this room appeared as though once it had been a small ballroom, but it had been converted to accommodate the servants and give them a space to rest. But it was quickly made clear that this room was not meant for guests to see. A girl sat slouched with her feet on the coffee table, in front of the fire, while reading a book. Two men sat on the table - rather than sitting on the chairs - deep in conversation.

"Manners aren't really a common thing in this room," Mary Margaret chuckled. "Behind this room is the servants dining room. There is a master dining room as well as a breakfast room upstairs, although they are only used when guests are present. When they are alone, Mr Jones usually eats in his office. Gracie eats with us in the servants room."

Following Mary Margaret, Emma found herself once more in the foyer.

"It is a lot to take in, is it not?" Mary Margaret offered.

"A bit, but I imagine I will not be left alone too much, so I'd wager it is not too bad if I forget where the sunroom is."

"Well, it is barely ever used, so it would not be too bad indeed," the brunette chuckled. "Just remember where your own bedroom is and where the kitchen is. Either Ruby or I will almost always be there, so you can ask if need be."

"Thank you," Emma smiled, following her up the staircase, lifting her skirt with one hand, her other hovering the wooden railing. She looked down behind her, surprised to find that the staircase looked even higher when you stood upstairs. Directly in front of them was a double door similar to the one that led to the petit salon downstairs, so it was not hard to guess what would be behind this door.

"The grand salon," Mary Margaret confirmed her thoughts. A black piano in sharp contrast of the cream colours of the room, though not entirely out of place as its grace suited the rest of the room, stood on their left. On their right, two sofa's stood before the big, stone fireplace. A fluffy white carpet laid between the chaises and the fireplace. Above the fireplace was an empty space, an odd choice for an otherwise well-decorated room. It did appear as though once something had hung there, a mirror or perhaps a painting. The walls had five wide floor-to-ceiling windows, between each window a decorative piece hung to accommodate a red candle. See-through curtains hung before the open windows, fluttering softly in the warm autumn wind.

"So, where are you from?" Mary Margaret asked.

"The city."

"And your parents are still there?"

"No parents, I'm afraid," Emma answered, fiddling with her dress, growing slightly nervous. That's what always happened; they asked about her parents, and either they treated her like a poor orphan, or they deemed her not good enough to look after their children, for what would an orphan know about parenting, right?

"I apologise, I should not have pried."

"Nothing to worry about, eventually it would have come up anyhow." Emma froze as she heard the heavy front door close, all the nerves that had been eased by Mary Margaret's kind smile came right back at her. She seemed to pick up on it and laid her hand on Emma's lower arm. "It will be fine," she smiled, guiding her back out to the hallway.

From there she could see a young girl stood next to Ruby, looking around the room until her eyes fell on Emma. Her eyes lit up and her smile widened. "Hi!" She yelled, lifting her skirt so she could walk up the stairs - well, run was more the word. "Hi!" The girl said again, slightly out of breath this time, once atop the staircase. "Are you Emma?"

"I am," Emma confirmed.

"I am Grace, it is nice to meet you," Grace said politely and extended her hand for Emma to shake. Emma smiled, surprised by the proper manners of the child. She had met a fair share of children before, but none were as well-behaved as Grace.

Emma shook Grace's hand, "likewise."

"You are very pretty," Grace stated, her bright smile never leaving her face.

"Thank you," Emma replied, flustered. "So are you." It wasn't just a courtesy, Grace was a very beautiful child. Rosy cheeks contrasted her pale skin, she had emerald eyes with a dash of gold around the irises. Thin, yet full eyebrows the same colour as her dark brown, curly hair - though slightly messy, perhaps because of the outside air. Grace had a lovely, genuine smile.

Emma wondered if she looked more like her mother or her father, but the lack of the paintings did not help. Though a child as beautiful as her could only come from a beautiful mother and a handsome father, so her imagination sated her wonder.

Emma looked up to find that both Mary Margaret and Ruby had left them alone, it made her slightly uneasy, but eventually this would be her job, so best get started at it.

"Have they shown you around yet?" Grace asked, breaking the silence.

"The ground floor, yes, I have yet to see the first floor."

"All right," Grace smiled, taking Emma's hand in hers and tugging at it to indicate that she had to face to face the left side of the hallway, pointing at the doors with her free hand as she spoke, "That's the hallway with the guest rooms and there is the dining room," turning on her heels midsentence, forcing Emma to turn as well, she pointed at the right side of the hallway, "In the back is my room, with next to it my study. Across my room is father's room. The library is between his room and the grand salon."

"You are not showing me the rooms, then?"

Grace shrugged, "Do you want to? It is not very important. You will see my room when you bring me to bed tonight."

"All right," Emma replied, perhaps a little relieved that she did not have to walk a lot more. Her feet had already started hurting from trying to keep up with Ruby, then following Mary Margaret around the mansion. A small break was very welcome. "Is there anything you would like to show me?"

"The stables and the garden," Grace smiled wide, holding Emma's hand firmly as she walked down the stairs. "How old are you Miss Emma?"

"Twenty-four," Emma answered, trying to remember the exact path they had taken to get to the garden, but Grace was excitable - and fast - , so trying not to trip was a priority over trying to orientate herself. "And you don't have to call me Miss each time." Grace looked up at that for a moment, then smiled and nodded before continuing her journey towards the stables.

"So you do not want to be married yet?" They passed by the pool house, from the outside it looked even more weathered down, some of the tiles were broken, plants crawling through and covering the outside walls in ivy and other plants as well.

"I have no intention of marrying yet," Emma confirmed.

"Good. Miss Charlotte left because she wanted to be married."

Next to the stables, there was a small vegetable field, a man with brown hair sat on his knees, harvesting some of the vegetables.

"Hey August," Grace crawled on the wooden structure around the vegetable field.

"Hey Gracie," the man, August, got up on his feet, wiping his dirt-stained hands on his trousers. "Miss," he greeted Emma with a small curtsy.

"Emma," she smiled.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Emma, I'd shake your hand, but," he held them up as if they were explanation enough, which, in truth, they were. "What can I do for you, Gracie?"

"Have you any rejects for the horses?"

"Not really," He scratched his nose, leaving a dirt mark on his face, "But I think I can be persuaded to give you a carrot."

"Three."

"Two," August said firmly.

"But, then there is one horse that doesn't get a carrot..." Grace pouted.

"Fine," he grunted, taking three carrots out of the bucket and handing them over.

"Thank you," the young girl smiled proudly, "Bye."

"Farewell to you both," he chuckled, returning to his task of harvesting the vegetables.

Grace opened the stable doors, revealing multiple stables, but, as Grace had already mentioned, only three horses. The middle horse neighed at Grace as she approached it, "This one is mine," she explained while feeding it a carrot. "Have you ever ridden a horse before?"

"No," Emma answered, brushing her hand over the soft nose of the horse. "I haven't."

"Why not?"

"I have never had the opportunity."

"Oh," Grace nodded once, taking a carrot from her bag to feed it to the horse in the stable next to hers. "Miss Charlotte taught me how to ride last year, but it has been a few months since I have ridden my horse. Father says it is best that I do not ride him anymore." She handed Emma a carrot and pointed at the horse in the other next stall.

"Why is that?" Emma asked, following Grace's example in feeding the horse; hand flat, making sure the animal did not eat her fingers along with the carrot. It tickled a bit (as well as feeling kind of gross, especially after the horse licked her hand searching for more).

Emma snickered and wiped her hand on her apron, quickly looking next to her; Grace grinned at her, "I won't tell Ruby."

"Thank you," Emma laughed softly and continued to wipe her hand until it felt relatively clean.

"Father won't let me ride because it's been too long for the horse, he might not respond to me the way he used to," Grace then explained.

"Perhaps your father can take you riding once, or find someone to ride the horse for you?"

Grace scoffed, waving at the horses before leaving the stables, "father has never taken me riding before, I don't see why he would now."

"I am sorry that I do not know how to ride a horse," Emma offered, walking through the garden with Grace, following her to Grace's favourite spot; the swing beneath a large tree. As she was walking, she noticed August looking at them intently. She'd noticed it before, other servants looking at her as she passed by. Curiosity, yet caution in their eyes. Who was this stranger running around the house with their Grace?

"It is not your fault, Emma," the young girl smiled softly while sitting down on the swing. "Push me?"

Emma nodded, taking place behind her, "shall I try and talk to your father about it?"

"It is no use, he will say no anyway, but thank you for offering."

They spent a while on the swing after that, getting to know one another. It were the basic things, favourite colour, favourite food, favourite animal, those things. But it was exactly that what made Emma feel at ease so much. Grace was a lovely child, perhaps slightly too mature for her age, but when the people you usually converse with are people three times your age, that tends to happen.

Emma had probed as to how Grace felt about her father not being home often, but to her surprise, Grace spoke highly of her father. According to his daughter, Mr Jones was a kind man, he was just broken and needed fixing.

* * *

 ** _Notes:_**

 ** _Well, that was the first chapter. We will be meeting Killian in the next chapter, so don't worry about having to wait too long for him._**

 ** _I would like to say that this fanfic is relatively historically accurate. The only thing that I have taken liberties on is the weather (not because I don't know, but because the winter in 1815 was quite rough and lasted until march, and in 1816 the Thames froze over because it was so cold.) Basically I could include that, but there are only so many things you can do inside the house, and I think it would get quite boring._**

 ** _The second thing, is Killian's scruff. There wouldn't really be a way to accomplish that in 1815, so either he would have a beard, or he would be clean-shaven. So instead I chose to keep his scruff, because it is just a part of his character._**

 ** _I believe that's about it._**

 ** _Thank you so much for reading, comments or constructive criticism are always appreciated :)_**


	2. Two

**Thank you so much for the response to this fic, I was not quite sure if there was an audience for this sort of fics hence why I waited this long to actually post it. But I was proven wrong, so thank you for that.**

* * *

Emma found her way back to the kitchen after putting Grace to bed. Surprisingly, it had gone fairly well, Grace barely put up a struggle or offered counter reasons as to why she should not be going to bed yet. Which was understandable, after playing in the garden for an hour or two, having dinner, and then showing her everything she learnt at ballet that day - whilst using terms Emma had never even heard of - Grace must've been rather exhausted.

There was some relief in that Grace liked Emma as much as she did, but Emma got the impression that there was rarely a person Grace did not like. Still.

In the kitchen, Ruby stood with her hands in sticky dough, "oh thank the Lord," she sighed relieved, brushing her hair away from her face with her forearm, "I need help, can you add flour?"

Emma chuckled, leaning over the table to reach inside the large bag of flour to toss some on the dough and sat down on the chair across her.

"I've made this bread a thousand times, I don't know why I messed up this time," Ruby groaned.

"I know," Mary Margaret teased, having walked in the room just a moment ago. "A certain topic has left you flustered."

"Do shut up, darling, I am not a lovesick puppy, left unable to perform daily tasks, thank you very much. More flour, please?"

Emma reached into the bag with a smile, amused at the teasing chatter between the two women.

"How was your first day?" Mary Margaret asked, taking a chair from the end of the table and dragging it closer so that she could sit next to Emma.

"It was wonderful. Grace is an exceptionally well-behaved child. She is so lovely. And everyone has been so kind, if not a little suspicious."

"You _are_ a stranger -"

"Oh, but I understand," Emma interrupted Mary Margaret. "In fact, I would find it odd if they had not eyed me with suspicion."

"I am sorry I plunged you in headfirst, but it gave me a welcome moment to breathe easy for once."

"It was no trouble at all. Besides, I would not learn to take care of her with someone holding my hand the entire time."

"You," Ruby pointed at her with a finger covered in dough, a smirk on her lips. "I like you. If Killian decides to grace us with his presence eventually, I shall advocate for you."

Emma smiled, "Has Mr Jones been gone for long?"

"Two weeks I believe?" Mary Margaret looked at Ruby for confirmation.

She nodded, finally able to roll the dough into a ball shape, "something like that."

"It must be hard that he is often gone that long."

Mary Margaret laughed briefly, "he used to be gone for much longer, when Grace was but a babe he was gone for..." She trailed off, deep in thought.

"Four months and a half," Ruby filled in.

"Right, we were beginning to wonder if he would ever return at all."

"That is horrible!"

"Well, there were mitigating circumstances," Ruby said softly, poking into the fire of the woodstove before deciding to add a small log. "His wife just died and he was left all alone with a baby. But yes, it was horrible. Especially because he came home without so much as an apology."

"He is very unapologetic so don't ever expect a sorry or even a thank you," Mary Margaret added.

"Well, that is not completely true," Ruby chimed in. "He has his own way of showing gratitude. Which you will notice on pay day."

"Ah yes," Mary Margaret chuckled. "Whenever he is gone for that long there is always a noticeable bonus compared to when he is home."

"It is basically a note saying 'thank you for putting up with my bollocks'."

The three women laughed at that. Emma had never truly had friends, but she easily recognised the early beginnings of friendship. These women weren't kind to her because they had to, they were kind to her because they wanted to. They wanted to make her feel included, in their laughter, in their gossip. To make her feel at ease, and it was working.

Ruby placed the ball of dough onto a wooden plate and set it in the oven before sitting down across them, wiping her hands on the towel over her shoulder and shoving some of the bowls and utensils out of the way with a sigh - perfectly conveying how much she did not feel like cleaning it up.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Ruby asked. "I mean, in my relief of finally having someone else to look after Grace, I really just said 'here's Grace, you stranger, have fun'. For all I know you could be a serial killer."

"Has a murderer ever been female?" Emma retorted with a laugh.

"No," Mary Margaret grinned.

"Or maybe they have, but they never got caught. Women are the brighter kind," Ruby winked. "And we know how to get rid of blood."

"Well, I promise I am not a murderer," Emma smiled.

"I don't know, Ruby," Mary Margaret started, looking at the other brunette with a grin, "that sounds like something a murderer would say."

"Hmm, it does," Ruby agreed with a nod, flashing Emma a teasing smile. "So where are you from?"

"The city," Emma answered. "And I don't have parents before you ask."

"I wasn't going to. I know parents are often a sensitive subject. I don't have parents either. I used to live with my grandmother until I got the job here," she shrugged. "What did you do before this?"

"I was a nanny to a child in Windsor. They sent me back as soon as they learnt I was an orphan."

"Why would they do that?" Mary Margaret asked sadly, her voice soft almost as if she was disappointed in humanity at that moment.

"I did not have any parents, what would I know of caring for a child?"

"That is ridiculous! I know for a fact that people without parents are the nicest people," Mary Margaret smiled at Ruby.

"Killian Jones being the exception," Ruby scoffed.

"That is not true, he is very kind. His kindness is just buried under layers and layers of his broken pieces."

"I believe you have chosen the wrong profession, you would make an excellent poet," Ruby chuckled, turning her attention back to Emma. "What do you like to do in your spare time?"

"I imagine I will not have much free time anymore..."

"I did not tell you yet, you get one day off per week," Ruby interrupted, "Miss Charlotte had Tuesdays off, I don't know if that works for you, but I am certain we can work something out."

"I did not expect any days off at all, so Tuesday is perfect. But in that case, I love to read,"

"Oh, has Grace shown you the library?"

"She has not," Emma replied. "She said it wasn't important."

Mary Margaret snickered, shaking her head, "Of course she would. The child detests reading."

"Any other interests?" Ruby questioned. "Do you know how to cook?"

"Let's say that I would manage to keep myself alive were I to live on my own," Emma replied.

"Live on your own?" Mary Margaret repeated, "what an odd thing to say." She frowned, tilting her head just slightly, as if the notion was completely foreign to her, but then she shrugged once. "So you know how to cook, then?"

"I do, but I prefer baking."

"Oh!" Ruby exclaimed, "do you know how to make a proper cake?"

"Yes," Emma answered with a smile.

"Good," Ruby grinned as she got up from her chair to rummage in a drawer, picking out a pencil and a little notebook, and handing it to Emma, "I have been craving cake for a while now."

"It still puzzles me that you know how to make bread, but not cake," Mary Margaret said softly.

"We all have our talents, darling," Ruby replied before turning to Emma. "Write down the things you need and Ella will get it for you when she goes to the market tomorrow."

"I have not yet met Ella," Emma answered, starting to write down the ingredients needed.

"The girl reading by the fireplace?" Mary Margaret chuckled, curiously looking over Emma's shoulder as she wrote. "I saw you looking at her pretty horrified that she had her feet up on the coffee table."

Emma frowned at the paper, trying to remember, she had seen many faces today, many just passed by with a friendly glance as Emma followed Grace wherever the girl led her. Emma vaguely remembered seeing a blonde at the fireplace in the servants area, but she could not put a face to her.

"Sorry, it has been quite a long day, I shall go and introduce myself properly when I have some more time tomorrow," Emma replied, hiding a yawn behind her hand as she overlooked the ingredients. "This should be it," Emma nodded, sliding the pencil and notebook over the table towards Ruby.

"Perhaps you should head to bed, we can talk again tomorrow. It has been a long day indeed," Mary Margaret offered with a smile.

"I will not say no to that, if that is all right with you?" Emma looked at Ruby.

She nodded, "of course. Shall I wake you up in the morning?" Emma hesitated before speaking up, but Ruby was quick to explain. "It is just something I do. I awake rather early, so I wake everyone that asks for it."

"What time would that be, exactly?"

"Around six or seven. That still gives you plenty of time to wake up Grace and have breakfast before Grace's tutor arrives."

"I'm sorry?"

"Right," Ruby sighed, "see if Killian had been here, he usually does the explaining to the new ones. From Mondays to Fridays a tutor comes to school Grace – you know what, I will make sure that I have written down Grace's schedule for you by tomorrow, for now, all you need to know is that I can wake you up around six or seven, that breakfast is in the servant's area. And that Grace should be ready at eight thirty for that's when her tutor arrives."

"All right, if it is no trouble then I would like to be woken up," Emma rose from her chair.

"I laid out some sleeping garments onto your bed," Mary Margaret said. "You did not exactly arrive with much on hand."

"Oh, right," Emma laughed, never once having remembered that she was never supposed to stay here. When she showed up at the gate earlier, she thought she would be having an interview, not that she would spend the night already. She had already felt so at home and at ease that she had nearly forgotten that it was not truly her home – she had not even considered going back to the group home after today as an option.

"I will ask Thomas tomorrow if he can bring you to your previous home so that you can fetch your things while Grace is being tutored," Ruby said, penning down a couple of things onto the notebook. Reminders or Grace's schedule, Emma could not tell.

"Thank you," Emma smiled. "Good night."

"Good night," both brunettes replied in unison, softly laughing at that. Emma left through the door in the back, the mansion almost eerily quiet. The orphanage had never been quiet, a child was always crying. The city was almost always buzzing, people on the streets, even in the dead of night. She saw them, when she sat by the small window of her shared bedroom, staring at the outside world, keeping silent in hopes of not awakening the other girls.

Moonlight poured into her room – her room, that she didn't have to share – illuminating it just enough for her to see a box of matches near a couple of candles. She lit one to find a note lying close by.

 _Emma,_

 _I have changed the sheets into something a little fresher, there is a sleeping gown in what I believe is your size, I have given you some candles, I will show you tomorrow where you can find more in case you need them. I also closed the windows in because of the bugs._

 _I hope you had a wonderful first day. If there is anything I can do or if you need to ask something, my room is the second at the beginning of the hallway._

 _Sleep well,_

 _Mary Margaret._

Emma smiled at the little note, closing her eyes as tears threatened to come. It was ridiculous, she berated herself, to cry over a little note. But it were little things that showed how caring Mary Margaret was, even for someone she didn't know, and never having had someone who cared this much, well…

Tiredness. She would blame it on tiredness. Emma hadn't even realised just how badly her feet were hurting until she sat down in the kitchen with Ruby. There had been so much information, so many new faces – people whose names she did not even know yet, and if she did, she'd forgotten. The man in the garden, who was terrible at negotiating with a child, Emma had forgotten his name already. She felt bad about it, though, but hoped he would understand tomorrow when she would go on to introduce herself properly.

Emma changed into the nightgown that was laid out for her, which was indeed her size, and laid herself down in the bed. The very comfortable bed.

She didn't have time to overthink this day too much, or to think about the quietness of the mansion, for sleep crept up on her quickly, leaving her to drift off into a deep slumber.

* * *

Ruby knocked her door early morning, opening it so that the sunlight from across the hall would pour into her room. "I usually don't stay and chat," Ruby started, poking her head through the door. "So when you are ready, you can find us in the kitchen."

"Sounds good," Emma replied with a voice thick with sleep, hauling herself out of bed. "I will be there in a moment," she added, but got the impression she was talking to air, Ruby having left her on her own already.

After changing into yesterday's clothes and combing through her hair with her fingers, she made her way back to the kitchen. Ruby, Mary Margaret, and two other women she had not seen before walked around the kitchen, preparing orange juice, baskets of fruit, and other baked goods.

"Morning," Mary Margaret finally noticed her after nearly running into her.

"Morning," Emma replied. "Can I help?"

"No, you may wake up Grace, she needs a bath. One of the girls has already prepared the bath, so best not let the water get cold."

"What of breakfast?"

"After," she smiled, urging her out of the kitchen. "She takes her bath alone, but she likes to take her time. Tell her to hurry or there won't be any cinnamon rolls left."

As most children often were, Grace too was way too excited in the morning. Tomorrow Emma would ask for a cup of coffee first before waking Grace up. But telling her about the cinnamon rolls definitely made her hurry more. In a short moment, Emma was already asked back inside the bathroom to help her dress properly.

Grace took Emma's hand while walking down the stairs, urging her to go faster because she did not want to be left without any cinnamon rolls.

At the breakfast table, she was seated next to Grace – who still had plenty of cinnamon rolls to choose from – and next to Ella. Mary Margaret and Ruby were not present at the breakfast table – they never were, apparently they took breakfast in the kitchen itself. But it definitely gave Emma the time to get to know some of her fellow workers.

After breakfast Emma sat with Grace in the petit salon, awaiting the arrival of Grace's tutor.

And that's how the mornings started every day for the next week.

Grace's schedule made it so that Emma was free to do whatever she pleased from eight-thirty to three on Mondays to Fridays. Her first Monday, Thomas brought her to the group home to pick up what little she possessed as well as her gowns.

She went on to introduce herself properly to everyone – starting with the man near the stables, and his name was August.

After Grace's tutor left, Grace apparently was given little tasks to perform due to the next day. Many of which Emma did not quite understand, but she happily sat next to Grace and listened to her as Grace tried to explain the mathematical problem she was solving.

On Tuesday, there was no-one left to meet and so she was left to roam the mansion. So she walked around the mansion remembering which rooms were where. As Ruby had suggested on her first day, Emma opened each door, before knocking of course, and explored the mansion at her own pace.

Curiosity had taken the better of her, and she had tried to open Mr Jones' office, but it was indeed locked.

On the first floor there was another locked door, she'd tried peeking through the keyhole, but it was completely dark inside. It kept her busy as she walked through the upper hall, but it was quickly forgotten when she entered the library.

Though about half the size as the grand salon, it was still a grand space. Three walls were covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves, two separate bookshelves stood in the middle of the room. Against the back wall stood a beautiful fireplace with in front of it two single sofas. On either side of the fireplace was a large window, curtains drawn and they appeared to have been drawn for a while. Perhaps the library wasn't as often used anymore, but Emma could barely wait to grab a book and curl up in the sofas and read until she fell asleep.

On Wednesday, she went with Ella to the market at Emma's request. Emma had been to the market before and she quite liked the buzz of it, especially if there was someone to share it with. Even if Ella was much younger than her, she, like many of the other servants, was kind and easy to talk to.

The rest of her days were spent mostly in the library. And learning all there was to know about life in the mansion. Though Ruby wasn't the oldest, by far, she was definitely the person to turn to if you needed something - if Mr Jones was not present. But Emma got the impression that even if Mr Jones was home, many would still go to Ruby instead. When asked about it, Ruby had shrugged and brushed it off as 'it is probably because I have been here longest'.

On Saturdays and Sundays Grace was allowed to sleep as long as she liked, so when Emma found herself with time to spare she stepped out into the garden after having bought flowers at the morning market in the little town between the mansion and the city.

Most of the staff and servants did not look weirdly when she arrived with flowers, Ruby had given her a quick glance-over with a tilted head and an arched eyebrow, but the smear of flour across her cheek betrayed she was busy in the kitchen, so she shrugged and retreated back in the kitchen without comment.

Emma had found the grave when she was outside with Grace earlier this week, after Grace had dragged her outside to play once again. Emma's eyes had fallen on a thick tree, overgrown bushes beneath it, which had been odd, since the garden, even with the absence of a gardener, seemed rather well-kept.

"Mother's grave," Grace had explained, noticing her stare, "It's hidden by the bushes. Father wouldn't allow the gardener to touch it." Then proceeded to drag her to her favourite spot behind the lake to where the swing hung from a tree. And there they had remained, getting to know each other and taking turns on the swing - Grace had insisted that Emma took a turn too.

So right now, she wandered through the garden, towards the grave. Emma knelt down in front of the stone, she found it quite easily to push the branches of the bushes behind it. Emma laid down the flowers in front of the grave, brushing her fingers over the cold stone to wipe away the dirt. Her name was Milah and when she died, she was barely over the age of thirty. It made her incredibly sad. For then the Lord of The Mansion could not have been that much older either. To be a widower at such a young age, with a child who reminded him so much of what he had lost.

"What are you doing?" A cold male voice she hadn't heard before sounded behind her.

"I -" she started as she looked up behind her, but fell short on words as she saw him. Gorgeous, yet sad blue eyes stared at her. He arched an eyebrow, still waiting for an answer. Emma opened her mouth, but her mind refused to produce a decent answer. He didn't look as old as she thought he would be, he couldn't be more than thirty. Not even his sad expression could hide the fact that he was still fairly young.

Emma felt her heart pound in her throat as she rose on her shaking legs.

"Well? Bloody hell, who even are you?"

"Father!" Grace's laugh made the both of them look up, watching the girl ran until she crashed into his legs. She was still dressed in her nightgown, probably ran outside the moment someone informed her of her father's return. Mr Jones' expression softened immediately, he even cracked a smile as he lifted his daughter in his arms. "You have met Emma? She is amazing is she not?" Emma blushed softly, looking away from them, eyes focused on the grass beneath her feet.

"You like her?" His voice sounded warmer than before. Emma looked at the two of them through her lashes, seeing Grace nod vigorously. "How much?" Grace let go of his neck - fully trusting her father to hold her tightly enough so that she would not fall - and spread her arms as wide as she possibly could.

"This much!"

"You liked Miss Charlotte that much."

"I like Emma this much as well."

"All right, if my Gracie likes her, then perhaps I should talk to her." He let go of his daughter, who smiled at the both of them and then caught sight of Milah's grave.

"Did you place flowers on mother's grave, father?" Grace frowned with a small smile and knelt down in front of the stone. Mr Jones shook his head, scratched behind his ear and lazily gestured towards Emma. Grace's expression faltered a bit, but gave Emma a grateful smile after that, "thank you."

Before Emma could reply, her name was called by Lord Jones, asking her to follow him. Nervously she followed him through the garden, back inside. He guided her through the long hallway, past the sunroom and opened the dark wooden door that led to his office.

He opened the curtains of the large window behind his desk, allowing the early morning sun to pour its warm rays in the room. The mansion has its library, but apparently Mr Jones had his own personal library in his office. Apart from the single window behind his desk, the four walls of his office were essentially just shelves filled books. An occasional decoration piece, such as a ship in a bottle or a small statue.

A mahogany desk stood in the middle of the room, a matching chair behind it. Two chairs on the opposite side. His desk was tidily kept, three pens carefully lined next to each other. A few papers in the corner, neatly stacked.

She noticed a single chair in the corner of the room, it looked comfortable, red velvet, a high back, overall elegant and beautiful, but seemed to be slightly out of place in his office.

"So what were you doing by my wife's grave?" He asked as he sat down, gesturing to the chair opposite of him. "Sit."

"Just bringing flowers, Sir," Emma replies and sat down on the hard chair. He seemed to shake his head, ever so slightly and if she weren't looking she may not even have noticed it. "It seemed to make Grace happy," she offered.

Mr Jones scoffed, "Do leave my daughter out of this, Miss Emma." He sighed, raising his hands to his face as if to wipe the tiredness out of his features. If anything, he looked even more defeated when he took his hands away, "but she seems to like you, so who am I to deny her." Emma watched his movements carefully. He took something that appeared to be a file from the top drawer of his desk, preparing a pen.

"Do you know how to write?"

"Yes, Sir."

Mr Jones arched an eyebrow, too tired to even bother to hide his surprise. "Very well, fill this in," he slid the paper over towards her. "Please," he silently added, his words almost a stubborn mumble, as if suddenly realising he had been less than a gentleman ever since he met her ten minutes ago.

Emma accepted the pen he offered as her eyes skimmed over the paper. Basic questions like her full name, birth date, home address, other background information.

"Is this for insurance?" Mr Jones appeared somewhat amused and nodded once. "Don't you need to ask me questions before hiring me? You are taking a complete stranger in your home, and all you want to know if there is a history of illness in my family?"

"Grace adores you. I asked the other servants about you - or rather they forced their positive comments about you upon me-" Emma almost laughed at that, certain that his comment was directed at Ruby "- You look trustworthy, if not a little nosy, but I am certain you will work on that."

"All right, what if I don't know the answer?"

"Then fill that in."

"This should be easy," Emma mumbled, filling in the required information in her steady cursive writing. Her name and date of birth were easy enough. Place of birth was a wild guess, but seeing as it probably did not truly matter, she wrote down the town she grew up in - they had a small hospital there, it could be, right?

When she hesitated at her parents' names, Mr Jones straightened his back, slightly tilting his head.

"Is there a problem, Miss Emma?"

"I am an orphan," Emma blurted out, taking the moment of silence that followed to collect herself. "I honestly don't know any of this information," she whispered.

"All right," he nodded. "Fill in what you can."

"You do not mind?" Emma asked, scanning the paper for the questions she knew about.

"Should I?" He retorted, one eyebrow raised.

Emma smiled shyly, "I suppose not." She filled in the rest of the paper in an odd silence. It was a strange notion to her that Lord Jones would simply hire her without any questions at all - not that she was complaining, a job was hard enough to come by as it is. But this man did not spoke to her at all, perhaps he was too tired to care; he did kind of look like he would much rather crawl into his bed and sleep for a couple of days.

He cleared his throat when she came to the last few questions, she'd almost dreaded having to start the conversation again with him, having not a single clue as to what to speak of. But he started the conversation for her, "I had been meaning to apologise for giving you the wrong date, but apparently you have made yourself quite at home already."

"Grace is very lovely, Sir," Emma replied, giving the completely filled in form a quick glance-over before handing it back to Mr Jones.

"Yes, she is," He looked away from her, tired eyes fixed on the paper, "I presume you have been told what your tasks are?"

"I have, Sir."

"About the ballet?"

"Bring her at two, pick her up at four, each Sunday," Emma confirmed.

Once again, he gave her an impressed glance, then sighed deeply, "All right, dismissed."

"Excuse me?" She raised her eyebrows, looking at him sideways.

"Do you have any questions?"

"I eh... Well... No, I guess not," Emma stammered.

"Then you are dismissed, surely you can find the door? It is right there behind that bookshelf."

Emma exited his office, closing the door behind her. Ruby stood by the staircase as if she was waiting for her. "Is he always like that?" Emma mouthed, making sure Mr Jones could not hear them.

Ruby grinned, "I tried to warn you."

In the days after that, it almost seemed as if he was keeping an eye on her and everything she did. As the days progressed he became less and less subtle, up until the point where Emma found herself in the library on Thursday evening, after having put Grace to bed, reading a book by the fire and Mr Jones stood by the bookshelf behind her.

She'd tried to ignore it, she truly did. But it was so hard.

"When is your birthday, milord?" Emma asked, looking at him over the back of the chair.

"Does it matter?" He mumbled, looking through an old dusty book. He did not seem like he was looking for anything particular; if anything, he looked like he was merely pretending to be busy.

"Maybe not," Emma answered whilst closing her book. "I guess I could have asked Ruby if I truly wanted to know. But if you are standing there to keep an eye on me, we may as well converse."

"I am not -" he started, but Emma interrupted him with a laugh.

"Milord, I may not have been schooled properly, but please do not take me for a fool, for I am not as simple-minded as you may think."

"I never said you were," he protested, smacking the book closed.

"Perhaps not with words, but your body language speaks for itself. Have I done something to make you suspicious of me?"

"Grace likes you," he stated with a frown. "Ruby likes you, Mary Margaret likes you, everyone seems to like you, but I cannot for the life of me seem to figure out what on earth is to like about you."

Emma scowled at him, pursing her lips so that she would not yell at him. Instead, she chose her words with care and speaking them calmly, making sure he heard her clearly, "For a Lord, you do have rather poor social skills. So what is it you are looking for? An explanation? Have I bewitched them? Is my spell not working on you? Surely I mustn't remind you that accusing someone of witchcraft and burning them at the stake has been abolished since last century."

"Do not mock me, Miss Emma," he warned sternly.

"Of course not, milord," Emma smiled emptily, rising from her chair. "After you have shadowed me for days, proceed to insult me, I would not dare to be cheeky with you. Forgive me," she curtsied, putting the book back in its spot on the shelve and leaving the library.

"Where are you going?" He followed her into the dark hallway, many candles having burnt out already. Some only producing a faint light due to a tiny flame.

"To bed, I did not realise I needed to ask permission. Am I allowed to go, milord?" She did not wait for his reply, instead kept walking, but his footsteps followed her everywhere she went, so when she stopped, he bumped into her. He did not apologise, but rather looked at her as if he was awaiting her apology. "What do you want from me?" Emma whispered. "I cannot please everyone. But Grace likes me, the people I work with like me, you do not have to like me for you are barely home at all."

"Is that an accusation, Miss Emma?" He tilted his head slightly.

Emma bit her lip, he was already angry with her, if he was going to fire her, at least she could leave him to face the facts and tell him the truth. "Yes milord, it was."

"Hmm," he hummed, taking a deep breath through his nose. He did not look like the kind of person who would hit someone, but in that moment, Emma feared he would. Mr Jones nodded, "you are correct, I do not have to like you, but I do hope you understand that with everything you just said to me, you only need to make one small mistake, with Grace, or with anyone else, and I will send you away without a second chance. Have I made myself clear?"

"Very much so. Thank you, milord," she smiled. "Good night?"

He gave her the barest hint of a nod.

* * *

 **Once again, thank you so much for reading, comments or constructive criticism are always appreciated :)**


	3. Three

_Mid-November, 1815._

After having returned from bringing Grace to ballet, Emma plopped down on the chair across from Ruby who was busy with dinner.

"Have you seen Mr Jones?"

"He left two hours ago."

"What? He did not even come say goodbye to Grace."

"He never does," Ruby answered, reaching below the table where she kept the cutting boards and handed one to Emma - she took it with light confusion. "He usually only leaves a note and even so, he tends to forget important matters. At least, this time, the list mentions that someone new is coming on Tuesday."

"Someone new?"

"A gardener, I believe," Ruby shrugged and handed her a knife, then laying a couple of carrots.

"What are you doing?"

"If you are just going to sit there, you may as well help. Cut these in Julienne."

"I have no idea what that means," she chuckled, watching Ruby as she patiently showed Emma what she meant. And so, for the next ninety minutes, Emma sat with Ruby, preparing dinner and chatting.

When the time came, Emma went to pick up Grace from ballet. As usual, they passed by a small toy store, a large bear sitting in the shop front, it was wearing an army coat, but next to it stood boxes with other outfits with which you could dress the bear up. She had never asked Emma for it, but by the way she slowed down each time they passed the store, Emma could tell that she would love to have it. Alas, Emma could not afford it quite yet.

Grace had remained silent from the moment Emma told her that her father had left already, up until dinner where she sighed deeply, poking at her potatoes with a deep sigh and then finally looking up.

"Did father say how long he was leaving this time?"

"No," Emma shook her head, looking over at Ruby.

"I'm sorry Gracie."

As the silence that had followed Grace all day remained, even as Emma brushed the knots out of her thick locks of brown hair just before bedtime, Emma finally spoke up.

"Are you all right, Gracie?"

"Yes," Grace lied. Emma could quite easily tell when she was being lied to, though it often required eye contact. But right now, she did not even have to look at Grace to know her answer was not the truth. Usually, Grace would protest bedtime at least twice, but tonight she willingly took a bath and, with Emma's help, prepared herself for bed.

"Is it your father?" Emma pursued.

"I am used to it. It is fine," Grace promised.

"It is not fine at all and the matter that you are used to it makes it all the more sad. I will speak to your father once he returns," Emma stated firmly, laying the brush back in the drawer and tucking Grace into bed.

"Please don't," Grace whispered. "I do not wish for father to get angry with you and send you away."

"I hate to see you so sad, I want to help."

"It truly is fine, Emma. Oh - I keep forgetting to ask you this..."

"What is it, Gracie?" Emma sat down on the bed next to her.

"Every year we do a play of The Swan Lake, it is for our parents to see how far we have come. It is this Sunday, will you come watch?"

"Naturally," Emma smiled, "I would not want to miss it."

"Thank you," Grace mumbled, suppressing a yawn. On Sundays Grace was always just that little more tired due to ballet, but like any child, she would never admit to this.

Emma smiled, brushing Grace's hair from her forehead and kissing it softly. "Good night."

"Good night."

After having blown out the candle and leaving Grace's room, Emma returned to the kitchen to prepare herself a cup of tea before retreating to the library as she did every night.

"Everything all right?" Mary Margaret asked as she came from the pantry, carrying a few candles.

"Grace went to bed without complaint," Emma answered, staring at the water as if it would boil faster that way.

"Goodness," Ruby's voice sounded behind her, but Emma didn't look up. "Is she all right?"

"She is sad about her father leaving without saying anything," Emma replied. "I know he loves his daughter, but surely he could try a little harder to show it."

"He does not seem to think of love as a necessity to life," Mary Margaret stated.

"Nor kindness, apparently," Emma added in a mutter.

"They are pretty useless things," Ruby grinned.

* * *

"Ooh, cookies!" Emma reached out for the basket filled with delicious looking chocolate cookies, but her hand was quickly swatted away. Emma frowned like a punished child, rubbing the back of her hand to soothe the pain.

"Don't touch!" Mary Margaret said sternly. "Not for you."

"But," Emma put on an exaggerated pout, "I made cake two weeks ago and you had some."

"You can have some of the leftovers," she retorted with an innocent smile.

"Fine," Emma sighed, plopping down next to Ruby, "So who are the cookies for?"

"The new gardener _David_ ," Ruby teased, singsonging his name while taking a cookie from the apparent leftovers.

"Why?" Emma asked, leaning over the table to take a better look at the cookies and taking out the biggest one.

"Because he's new. I want to welcome him," Mary Margaret replied, tying a big red bow around the basket, paying just a bit more attention to it than necessary.

"I didn't get any cookies," Emma pouted once more, cheeks filled with cookies.

"Ah," Ruby started, "But you are not a very handsome man, are you?"

"That's not -" Mary Margaret started to protest, her cheeks colouring beet red. "He's not -"

"Emma?" The three women looked up at the sound of Grace's voice. "I can't sleep." Emma looked at the clock standing near the door, it had been two hours since she put Grace to bed. Usually she was fast asleep by this time.

"Do we have any leftover milk?" Emma questioned Ruby.

She frowned, clearly unsure what Emma would want with the milk. "A bit," she replied warily. A moment later Emma had prepared a steaming cup of milk and added two spoons of honey.

"Come," Emma led Grace to the library, "Pick out a book, I'll get the fire ready."

"I don't want to read," Grace protested with a tired pout.

"I'll read it for you," Emma explained, holding back a laugh. She was not quite sure if Grace was too tired to understand her meaning, or if she simply had never been read to.

Grace returned with a book as the fire had just started going, the burning wood crackling softly, it's warm glow brushing over Emma's skin as she sat down on the sofa with Grace snuggled up against her, the cup of warm milk in her small hands, a blanket draped over the both of them.

"This is nice," Grace admitted, pointing at the cup. Emma hid her smile easily, Grace who never drank milk at breakfast, only orange juice just admitted that she liked the warm milk; it was a small victory for her.  
It did not take long for Grace to fall asleep after that, Emma was barely a few chapters into the story. But she continued reading anyway, her voice lowering with each passing phrase until she was reading the book in silence.

It was nicely warm in the Grand Salon, the fire crackled almost rhythmically, a soft lullaby to which Emma could easily fall asleep. She caught her eyes falling shut more than once, the book tumbling off her lap, falling onto the carpet with a soft thud. For a moment, Emma was almost content with sleeping on the sofa, warm and cosy. And in that moment, she tugged the blanket a little higher, Grace snuggling even more firmly into her arms.

The soft clock strikes of midnight woke her up briefly, Grace barely stirring in her sleep. But eventually, Emma fell asleep once more to the sound of the fire and the clock, ticking the time away.

She woke up when a weight was lifted from her chest - quite literally. Through tired eyes, she saw Mr Jones picking up Grace in his arms.

"Go to sleep," he ordered in a soft whisper. Emma nodded tiredly, snuggling into the blanket, her eyes falling shut again.

She did not know how much time had passed since the last time she opened her eyes, but absolute exhaustion told her that it was far too soon to wake up already. Yet, someone shook her shoulder, trying to wake her up.

"Miss Emma, have I not told you to go to sleep?"

"I was sleeping," Emma complained drowsily, trying to snuggle herself back into a comfortable position.

"Shall I carry you to bed as well then?" Tired as she was, she realised that there was something wrong with that sentence. Perhaps it was sarcasm or even annoyance. However, not having to walk to bed did seem like a tempting offer; she managed a tired hum of approval. He scoffed, "I will do no such thing. Either you sleep here or you can walk yourself to bed, I do not care. Goodnight."

It was the door that practically slammed shut that woke her up at last and so she managed to walk to her room, barely removing her corset before falling asleep in her underdress, this time not waking up until Ruby knocked her door like she always did every morning.

Like every morning, she sent Grace upstairs with her tutor, Mr Jefferson. To Emma's frustration, that was the only name he shared and she was too polite to ask him if that was his first name or last. The man seemed nice enough, if not a little absently, maybe even a little mad.

He'd invited Emma to sit with them once as he taught Grace English, it what then that Grace mentioned that she and Mr Jefferson's daughter shared the same name. Mr Jefferson grew quiet at that but later told Emma that his daughter had passed away a few years prior. Smallpox.

Mr Jefferson genuinely cared for Grace, even if she was not his Grace, there were similarities and it was enough for him.

She still stood by the stairs when she saw Mr Jones in the hallway, walking away from her at a fast pace, making it seem as if he was avoiding her. "Milord?"

"Not now."

"Yes now!" Emma retorted, which made him turn on his heels to face her, his ever-present scowl right there as he looked at her. "Why did you leave without saying something?"

"I did not realise I had to justify myself to you."

"Perhaps not, but it would be nice if you did."

"Is that a demand?"

"No, this is me asking nicely. If you like, I can make it a demand, if that would make you listen."

"So let me get this straight, you come into my house, you make yourself at home, you make people like you enough so that I cannot send you away without proper reason, and now you are making demands?"

"If that is the only way I can get you to do it, then yes."

"Miss Emma," He said coldly, "My office, now."

"Contrary to what you appear to believe, milord, it will not hurt you to ask nicely for once."

"I do not have the patience, nor the time for this right now," He grumbled, taking her arm in a firm grip and walking her to his office where he immediately started rummaging through his paperwork. "Would you care to tell me why you were sleeping on the sofa instead of in bed?"

"Grace could not sleep, milord, I read to her -"

"You read to her?" He briefly looked up from his desk, frowning; one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, milord. I gave her a warm milk as well. The both of us must have fallen asleep," Emma offered.

"Grace will try anything to stay up later. You will never agree to such a thing again. Put her to bed at nine, as instructed."

"But -"

"Dismissed."

"Yes, milord."

Later that afternoon, deciding that Grace had been tasked with far too much homework and deserved a break, Emma ran through the upper hallways, hidden in the darkness of the corridors until she collided with a solid body.

A deep grunt came from him as he held his arms out to steady Emma before they both fell down onto the ground.

"I am so sorry milord," Emma apologised, her hands on his chest quickly removed.

"Why are you running down the halls?"

"We are playing hide and seek, Sir. It is my time to hide."

"You are playing a game?" In the faint darkness, she saw him arch an eyebrow. "Should Grace not be studying?"

"Naturally, milord, we are just taking a break," Emma smiled, looking behind her. "May I go, Sir? I am a terribly sore loser."

"Perhaps I should keep you here then, for running into me."

"Or you could join our game, I am certain Grace would love it."

"Go," he dismissed her, stepping out of her way.

"Father!" Grace yelled behind them.

"Grace, you did not count to ten, there is no way -"

"I counted really fast," the girl admitted. "Father, I wanted to ask you -"

"I am busy -"

"Milord," Emma interrupted him sternly. "Your daughter has something important to tell you."

Mr Jones sighed, then looked at Grace with a small, yet genuine smile, "What is it, darling?"

Grace took a deep breath and rattled on excitedly, speaking a scarily large amount of words in little time, "You remember that play last year? My first play? Of course you remember. They do it every year, but this time I am in the front row! I get to be in the front row, father! Oh, and I have two seats for my parents, but Emma can come with you and you can see me and -"

"Grace," Mr Jones calmly stopped the waterfall of words that kept pouring from her mouth. "Darling, I am so very proud of you, but I will not have the time to come see it."  
Grace pouted angrily, "Father, you do not even know when my play is."

"When is it?"

"This Sunday," she tried carefully, "That's four days from now, surely you will still be home then?"

Mr Jones smiled once more and nodded, "I'll see what I can do."

Three days later, Emma was summoned to his office.

"You asked to see me, milord?" Emma asked as she walked inside. He stood by the window, struggling with the crimson cravat around his neck, nearly dropping it when she entered.

"Bloody hell, how many times have I told you to knock," he muttered, restarting his struggle with his cravat.

"I apologise, milord," Emma mumbled. "Do you require assistance?"

"No," he stated sternly, his fingers trying out an intricate knot. "I need you to tell Grace that I won't be back in time for her play tomorrow."

"But Sir! You promised!" Emma protested loudly.

He flashed her an angry look, which would have been far more intimidating if his cravat did not stick out in every way possible, and instead proofed up so high he had to stretch his neck to keep the cloth underneath his chin.

"I am sorry milord," she sighed and stepped closer, untying the many knots he had made. At this point in time, he was too defeated by the piece of neckwear to protest her aid. Instead, he settled for a disgruntled frown but lifted his head so she could help him out of the cage he trapped himself in.

"She will be disappointed, Grace has been looking forward to this since she told you about it. She is so proud of this."

Mr Jones sighed, conflict visible in his features. She could almost hear his internal struggle. "I simply will not be home in time."

"Could you not try to leave sooner?" Emma urged softly, her cold hand brushed his neck as she took the cravat away, causing him to shiver.

He sighed, "I could try."

"Promise me you will be there," she whispered.

"You ask an awful lot. I cannot promise such thing."

"At least promise me you will try."

"I promise," he said reluctantly.

"Thank you," Emma smiled. "How shall I tie your cravat?"

"I am meeting with an Irish client, I tried..." Emma nodded already placing the tie back around his neck. His eyes were fixed on her, she could practically feel his stare as her fingers worked the knot. She brought her fingers to his chin, gently forcing him to lift his chin. His jaw clenched but he obliged.

He cleared his throat briefly before speaking his next words, as stubborn as every other word he had uttered today. "I do not want you to think I am incapable of trying my neckwear."  
"Why do you care how I think of you?" Emma laughed softly, smoothing out the cravat and handing him the hand mirror on his desk.

"I don't," Mr Jones said firmly, looking in his mirror, an impressed eyebrow raised. But naturally he would not compliment her, nor thank her. Why would he? "It was simply that this is not a style I usually do."

"Of course milord," Emma replied. "Anything else?"

"No, you may go," he dismissed her.

"Remember your promise," She whispered before leaving his office.

* * *

"So he said he would be there?" Grace asked as they had reached their destination.

"He said he would try," Emma answered, "Please do not be too disappointed if he isn't here."

"If he said he would try, he will," Grace smiled while Emma helped her out of the carriage, walking up to the small theatre.

"I'll go inside," Grace said, clutching her bag to her chest. "Will you wait here for father?" Emma nodded, hoping her true thoughts didn't show. She had told Grace that he probably would not make it even though he promised he would try. But Grace ignored the first part and held on tight to he promised he would try. But Emma had a feeling that he probably wouldn't come, or be late at best.

Yet Emma did as Grace asked, standing in front of the building, her cloak tightly wrapped around her to keep out the cold wind. She stood there, watching other girls' parents enter the building side by side, laughing, or sharing prideful words about their daughters with other parents.

Emma remained there until ten minutes before the play was supposed to start and went inside, asking directions to the dressing room.

A stern-looking woman opened the door, her glasses sat low on her nose, but instead of pushing them further up, she lifted her head to get a better look at Emma. Her hair was pulled in a tight bun not a single strand sprung free.

"Are you the mother of one of the girls?" The woman asked, holding her hand up to stop Emma from entering.

"I -"

"Emma!" Grace yelled excitedly, running closer. "Miss Adeline, this is my nanny!"

Finally woman lowered her hand and even cracked a smile, "Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Grace has spoken of you quite often."

Emma blushed lightly, looking over at Grace, she was still running around barefoot, her hair falling over her shoulders in tangled curls. "Should you not be getting ready?" Miss Adeline raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Miss Adeline," Grace agreed politely, "but I need someone to help me with my hair."

"I can do that," Emma offered.

"Hurry up then," Miss Adeline smiled, gesturing for them to get back to the dressing room. Grace took Emma's hand and dragged her along with her, guiding her to a mirror in the back that seemed to be Grace's designated spot, given that all her clothes, shoes, and other things laid there.

Grace sat in the high chair, handing Emma a hairbrush.

"Nervous, Gracie?" Emma asked, contrary to her excited greet, Grace was now silent, watching Emma tie her hair back in a bun.

"A bit," she admitted.

"But that is not what's wrong," Emma spoke softly, walking around her to making sure the bun was tight and presentable.

"Father isn't coming, is he?"

"There is still time," Emma offered.

"Five minutes!" A voice sounded loudly through the backstage area.

Grace sighed and shook her head, climbing off her chair to sit on the ground so she could tie her laces around her ankles. "You're here, at least," Grace smiled weakly.

"Hey," Emma started, kneeling down in front of her. "I know it is disappointing, but he really tried to be here."

"Yet he is not," Grace pouted.

"I know," Emma pursed her lips. "Tell you what, after the show, you and I will bake a cake and he can't have any."

Grace smiled at that, "thank you, Emma." She surged forward to wrap her arms around Emma's neck.

"Grace?" Miss Adeline stood behind them, "it is time for you to take your position."

Grace nodded, hugging Emma just that bit tighter before releasing her.

"Hey," Emma called out after her, she turned around briefly, "good luck, darling. I know you can do it." Grace smiled widely before disappearing behind the door with the rest of the girls.

Emma found her way back to the audience area, taking a seat on the second row, the one with her name on it, next to an empty chair that had "Killian Jones" on it in Grace's handwriting, decorated, like Emma's, with hearts, flowers, and butterflies. Another thing Grace was probably insanely proud of.

Emma took a deep breath when the curtains of the windows were closed and the room became dark. Piano music started and the large stage curtain opened.

He had promised Emma he would try to come, surely he likely did try to come, but like Grace, Emma was incredibly disappointed that he did not try harder so that he was actually here.

At the beginning Emma was too engrossed in her thoughts to even notice Grace smiling widely at her, but when Emma waved discreetly at her, Grace smiled even wider, her chest puffed; she was visibly proud of what she was doing - and had every right to be. She'd practiced in the garden - and on rainy days in the Grand Salon - often enough, making Emma watch and give feedback. Talked about nothing else for the last few days. She was so devoted to doing a good job. And it showed; she was clearly one of the better swans in the lake.

They were about twenty minutes in when she heard someone shuffle through the chairs on her row, finally reaching the seat next to her and silently sitting down.

Mr. Jones took off his coat, slightly out of breath, lifting his butt as he realised he sat on something, and took the paper with his name on it to look at it with a gentle smile.

"Hi," he whispered softly, leaning just a bit closer, he folded the paper neatly and tucked it into his coat pocket. "I apologise for being late."

"I am not the one you need to apologise to," Emma subtly pointed at Grace on the first row, tongue between her lips as she danced effortlessly through the bit she had practiced at home, over and over again till she got it right.

Looking at Emma in a 'did you see that? I got it!' kind of way, she noticed her father sitting in his chair. Grace was so happy in that moment she missed a step - but covered it up well enough, Emma probably wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't seen Grace practise her part as many times as she did.

"Though, something tells me, she has already forgiven you, milord," Emma smiled and sat back, finally able to fully enjoy the play.

They were encouraged to remain seated during the break so that not too many people would be running around right before it would start again. Mr Jones was clearly disappointed at that, shuffling uneasily in his chair.

"She knows you're here now, Sir," Emma smiled.

"I should have been here from the start," he berated himself. "Was she very disappointed?"

"Yes," Emma answered.

"You sure know how to make a man feel great," he scoffed, shaking his head lightly.

"I am not here to make you feel great, you were late, she was disappointed. That's how it is," Emma shrugged. Then quickly adding, "milord."

He refused to look at her, but she preferred he didn't, she wasn't quite ready to meet with his scowling stare.

He brushed his hands over his face, his rough hand scraping over his couple-days-old scruff. As always, when he returned frown a travel, he looked tired to the point of exhaustion. Though he had not stayed away for long this time, he did look like he only slept a few hours. And the defeat of knowing he had disappointed his daughter on top of that made it all even worse.

"Surely, now that she knows you're here, she is no longer disappointed."

"She had every right to be," his voice sounded a lot thicker as if he stopped trying to hide the fact that he was tired. "I was late."

"But you are here now," Emma stated again. The room was once again darkened, and the large curtain opened.

* * *

After the play, they were told to go the ballroom next door where they would be accommodated with refreshments. Emma stood with Mr Jones by a table, he did not speak much. He clearly struggled to keep up conversations with her and often did not know what to say to her at all, so he remained silent instead. But the silence between them was not as uncomfortable as it could have been.

When offered a glass of champagne he asked for something stronger, and complained only mildly about the quality of the drink offered, yet his tumbler stood empty on the table.

Finally the doors opened and about thirty young girls ran into the room, some finding their parents faster than others. Emma waved at Grace as she scanned the room. Her smile grew and she darted across the room, dropping her bag to the floor just before running straight into Emma's arms, hugging her tightly.

"What did you think?"

"It was incredible!" Emma met Grace's enthusiasm. "You were so great. You looked so beautiful up there." Grace beamed with pride, then turned to face her father.

"Was it good?" She wondered carefully.

Mr Jones noticed the change in his daughter's attitude, his shoulders sagging slightly. It was clear Grace wanted nothing more than to make her father proud and how much his opinion mattered to her. And in that moment, Emma saw him being reminded that he had once again disappointed his daughter. "Oh Grace," he sighed sadly. "It was wonderful, I am so proud of you."

"Thank you, father," Grace smiled, "Emma?" Grace tugged the fabric of her dress, indicating she had to come closer. Emma knelt down and watched Grace intently as she brought her lips to her ear. "Does this mean father can have cake?"

"That's up to you, Gracie," she said softly, trying to mask her grin by holding her gloved hand before her lips.

Grace looked up at her father and then back to Emma. "He is here now," she contemplated, looking back at her father with a considering pout. "But he was late."

"Let us give him half a piece," Emma suggested, "for his effort." Grace chuckled and gave her an agreeing nod.

"Cake?" Mr Jones asked as Emma rose back to her feet.

"Emma makes a really good cake," Grace explained. "But Emma said that because you weren't here, you couldn't have any -" Mr Jones glared at Emma for that, though Emma was not quite sure if it was the cake bit he was angry about. "- but now you are here, so Emma says you can have half a piece."

"Thank you, for your generosity," Mr Jones deadpanned, picking up Grace's bag from the floor. "Shall we go?"

"Did you arrive by carriage?" Emma questioned, following Mr Jones outside, Grace by Emma's side.

"I did, but I sent him home already, I assume you arrived by carriage as well?"

"Yes, milord."

Once in the carriage, Grace had chosen to sit next to Emma, a matter that, though not intentional, clearly hurt her father. Somewhere, Emma hoped it would show him that he could not continue the neglecting life he led, and that it only led to the disappointment of the only one he cared about.

But a stubborn silence betrayed he was not quite ready to face the repercussions of his behaviour.

* * *

 _ **Notes:**_

 _ **Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it - and if you did, please consider leaving a review, takes a moment, means the world!**_


	4. Four

_Please note that this chapter may contain content that could be a trigger. (Implications of / implied rape.)_

* * *

 _December 1st, 1815._

"Ella!" Emma exclaimed as she saw the girl open the front door.

Ella stopped in her tracks and turned around to face Emma with a smile, "Yes?"

"Will you be going to the market?" Emma questioned as she came walking down the stairs, lifting the heavy cloth of her gown. "Would you mind if I joined you? I just need to fetch my cloak."

"Not at all," she replied, "I shall wait here." Emma gave her a thankful smile, quickly making her way through the mansion towards her room to fetch her cloak, as well as her gloves and scarf, and her little purse that contained the salary she had received the day before and returned to the front door where Ella was waiting for her.

"Ready?" Emma smiled, tying her scarf just a bit tighter around her neck.

"Do you have anywhere you need to be?" Ella questioned as she walked outside, Emma following closely after.

"It's Grace's birthday soon, she has been looking at this bear in the shop front of a toy shop each time we've passed it by for a while now," Emma answered, burying herself just a little more into her cloak and scarf. It had been snowing for a couple of days now - and though it was not as cold as last year, it was definitely cold enough for her to almost regret the decision to step outside.

Both women kept their heads low to shield themselves from the wind as they walked side by side towards the little market, the snow crunching underneath their feet. The cold wind cut against her cheeks like a sharp knife, but at least she had remembered to put on her gloves so her hands were not as freezing as they could have been.

"Have you been in Mr Jones' service long?" Emma questioned after a moment of silence, deciding that conversation would likely distract her from the cold.

"A few weeks longer than you," Ella replied with a slight shiver. Emma looked up at her, Ella's lips trembled slightly, her lips turning a pale shade of purple.

"Take my scarf," Emma suggested, already untying it.

"It is fine, Emma," Ella protested, yet she almost melted into the warmth of the scarf as Emma tied it around her neck. "Thank you," she smiled sheepishly.

"Do you not have a scarf?" Emma questioned, keeping her cloak closed around her neck with her hands.

"I don't," Ella answered.

"I am sure we can find you one on the market."

"I do not have the coin for a scarf."

"Did Mr Jones not pay you yesterday?" Emma frowned.

"Yes, he did."

"Surely a scarf does not cost that much," Emma tried with a smile.

Ella stopped in her tracks, making Emma stop as well, "Emma, I simply can't, for the coin I make is not mine to keep."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that any coin I earn goes to my stepmother who is taking care of my daughter."

"Your daughter?" Emma asked, one eyebrow arched, "But you are -"

"Unwed?" Ella smiled bitterly. "Yes. Unfortunately, the masters at my previous place of employment were not as kind as Mr Jones is."

"Oh Ella, I am so sorry."

"Me too," Ella sighed, continuing her walk at last, Emma followed on frozen feet. "I am grateful that Mr Jones was willing to employ me, even after this scandal. Though I am beginning to think that he simply does not care at all."

"That may very well be true," Emma answered. "Do you still see your daughter?"

"Yes, I visit her on my day off. It's not much but at least she does not have to grow up in an orphanage- sorry, I did not mean -"

"It's fine," Emma smiled. "I agree. Ella, If you don't mind having a hand-me-down scarf, you can have mine, I intended to buy a new one for myself anyway."

"I do not mind at all, thank you very much," she replied.

It had not been a complete lie, Emma did intend to buy a new scarf for herself, eventually. But right now, the money she had earned was to buy the bear for Grace's birthday, and she would not have enough coin left to buy a scarf for herself. Yet, not seeing Ella shiver was slightly more satisfying than being selfish - even if selfishness would have kept her warm.

As they kept walking, Ella spoke more of her daughter - she was two and her name was Alexandra, named after Ella's father. And even if she often reminded Ella of a terrible time, Alexandra's smile and her laugh brought more joy than hurt. Ella confessed that she never expected such a beautiful thing to come of it, and that when things got rough she pushed through for her daughter.

Emma quickly realised that Ella was far stronger and smarter than she appeared to be.

Ella was not schooled, or even literate for that matter. But the way she handled the men at the market and haggled the price of everything, and more often than not got it down to the price she wanted was quite impressive.

Ella was even able to haggle the price of the bear so that Emma was able to buy a scarf after all.

The walk home seemed to go a lot faster, even if their feet were frozen.

Once home Emma hid the bear in her room and spent the rest of the day reading with Grace before the fire.

Emma had never once seen Grace pick up a book, Mary Margaret informed her that Grace had trouble with reading and writing, and preferred to avoid it at all costs. And so, per Emma's request, Mr Jefferson had tasked Grace with reading a book.

Grace had first denied having been tasked with anything at all and after confessing to lying, she complained that she did not want to read for a good thirty minutes. By the time that she finally picked up her book Emma had already been deep into her own book.

Emma had looked over the top of her book with a sly smile, seeing Grace stare at her own book with a stubborn scowl - but silent at least.

They remained at the fire in the library until dinner, and when Grace tried to get out of reading once more, Emma easily convinced her to continue reading, "The sooner you finish this book, the more different things we can do the rest of the week. Besides, you don't want to have to read on your birthday, now do you?"

Grace had agreed, only mildly complaining this time.

Emma caught Grace with a little amused smile once, but the smile disappeared quickly when she saw Emma's look.

"It's stupid," Grace had said, and with headstrong persistence that the book was stupid, her face easily fell back into the scowl.

However when the clock in the Grand Salon next door indicated nine o'clock, Grace's bedtime, and it was time for Grace's usual routine of complaining and bargaining for _a few more minutes_ , she was quick to slam the book shut and stand up.

"Ready to go to bed?" Emma questioned with a grin, closing her book and sitting up straight.

"Yes," she smiled, her eyes still full of energy. Some part of her expected Grace to fall asleep out of boredom, really.

"Go get yourself ready, I will prepare you a warm milk."

In truth, that had become part of their evening routine as well. A few weeks ago Grace had decided that she was old enough to get herself ready for bed and so Emma taught her how to rid herself from the layers of clothing and gave her little tricks to make it easier.

The first few days Emma was quickly summoned back into the room to help, but with everything, practice made it easier.

Now their routine consisted of Grace undressing herself while Emma prepared a cup of warm milk.

And as usual, upon entering with a cup of steaming milk, Grace's dress and underdress laid with her stockings and undergarments on a pile in the middle of her room.

"Have you seen father today?" Grace asked, taking the cup from Emma.

"No," Emma replied. "Why?"

"He often drinks a lot more around my birthday."

"Why is that?" Emma questioned, taking the hairbrush from the drawer of her nightstand before sitting down on the bed and starting to brush out Grace's hair.

"Because mother died?" Grace reminded her as if it was the most obvious thing. "I understand why he is hurting, I just worry for him."

"Shall I look up on him in a moment?"

"You don't have to," Grace laughed softly, "But I know you will anyway." Emma chuckled at that. "I do not think that there is anything you can do for him right now though."

Emma laid the brush back in the drawer and pressed a kiss to Grace's forehead, "Drink your milk and try to sleep, all right?"

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Gracie," Emma smiled, getting up, picking the clothes Grace had so carelessly discarded up from the floor before leaving her room, closing the door softly behind her.

Emma walked through the barely lit hallway, almost walking past the grand staircase until the heard arguing voices on the floor below.

"Sir, please do not touch me," she heard Ella's voice. Emma leant over the railing of the second floor, getting a better view of the floor below. She saw Mr Jones give Ella a confused frown, yet kept his hand still on her arm. "Please - don't," Ella begged.

"Mr Jones?" Emma spoke clearly, demanding his attention. Lord Jones looked up at her with a scowl, his brow furrowed deeply, yet he looked at her like his vision was hazy; he'd clearly been drinking. Emma laid Grace's clothes on the floor and stepped down the stairs, keeping her eyes locked with his. "Please release her."

"I just need to speak with her." Mr Jones smiled emptily at her.

"You will do no such thing," Emma replied, reaching for his hand on around Ella's arm, peeling it loose. "If you truly have something to say to her, it can wait until tomorrow, if not, you can apologise to her tomorrow."

"Why would I want to do that?" He scowled at her, yanking his hand away from hers.

"For reasons you will understand tomorrow," Emma answered. "Will you be all right?" She turned to face Ella - she nodded weakly. "Go to the kitchen, ask Ruby for a cup of warm milk, it'll do you good to sleep."

"Thank you," Ella whispered, walking away from her without another look back.

As Emma turned back to Mr Jones, she just saw the door of his office close. Emma sighed deeply and rolled her eyes, sometimes she truly wondered if she was hired to take care of the wrong child.

Angrily - or perhaps she was just more annoyed, she stepped into his office, he sat sagged in his chair already, pouring himself a glass of liquor.

"You know, Miss _Emma_ ," he pronounced her name clearly, his lips almost popping before shaping into a grin. "I did not think you the jealous type."

"Jealous?" Emma asked, walking over to him, closing the door behind her.

"If you wanted to take Miss Ella's place, all you needed to do was ask."

Emma took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and taking a moment to calm herself down. Upon opening her eyes she was met with a pair of hungry blue eyes. He ran his tongue over his along his teeth, grinning even wider.

"Darling, if you want me, there is no need to treat me so rudely, you can just tell me you want to sleep -"

"Shut up!" Emma yelled, quite effectively shutting him up, then lowering her voice to a more appropriate volume. "I do not want to sleep with you, all I want is for you to keep your hands off Ella - or any of the other girls for that matter. You have never done this before, why start now?"

"How would you know what I have done or haven't done before? Been asking around about me, have you?" The grin was back in place in just a moment's time. He never took his eyes away from her as he brought his glass to his lips as sipped the amber coloured liquid.

"Yes, I have. Because that is the one thing female servants are most afraid of when they start at a new place of employment. Goodness, I was delighted to hear that you did not stand for it, that you actually cared for the people in your service, although not in the most common way, but you make sure we do not have to eat scraps, that we are paid much above average, that we actually enjoy our time here." Emma took another breath and bit her lip before continuing, "I cannot say I know what you are going through, especially as we near the date of her death -"

"Don't you dare talk about her!" He hissed, pouring himself another glass.

"Very well," Emma nodded. "I also cannot say that I know you, but I know enough of you, to know that you would not do this if you were sober. And that, had you succeeded in bringing Ella to your bedroom, you would not be satisfied, you would only despise yourself more." Mr Jones sighed, sitting back in his chair and glaring at her. Emma pursed her lips together to hide her smile; she was finally able to get through to him.

She reached out over his desk, he barely even moved or put up a fight as she took the liquor bottle and putting it back in the cupboard below the bookshelf next to his desk.

"Shall I draw you a bath?" Emma asked softly.

"No," he protested and got up, "I can do it myself," he slurred. "I hired you to take care of my daughter, not of me." He walked past her at an unsteady pace. She followed him, in his slow pace, out of his office.

After his first step on the stairs he nearly fell over, then proceeded to get angry at Emma for being there to catch him. "Leave me!" He hissed, brushing her away.

"Fine," Emma mumbled, retreating to the kitchen. If he fell and she wasn't there to see him fall, maybe she'd feel less guilty.

"Everything all right?" Mary Margaret asked, sitting across Ruby, helping her make the dough for tomorrow's bread. Ella sat next to Mary Margaret, drinking a cup of milk in silence while Mary Margaret soothingly stroked her hand Ella's back.

"Lord Jones is drunk of his ass again. He's going to take a bath," Emma said, plopping down on the chair next to her.

"In cold water?" Ruby snickered.

"He made very clear he didn't want my help," Emma shrugged, plucking a grape from the fruit tray and popping it in her mouth. "Are you all right, Ella?"

"I am, thank you - again," Ella replied with a small smile.

"How long do you think it will take before he asks for help?" Mary Margaret grinned, reaching over to take a grape as well.

"He won't, he's too proud for that," Emma scoffed, reluctantly getting off her chair to prepare some water to boil.

"You are too kind for him, honestly, I would have let him wait," Ruby said, placing the dough on a tray and taking it to the oven.

"I am just bringing him some water, Ruby, he can still make his own bath after that."

"Are you truly leaving a drunk man alone with boiling water?" Mary Margaret asked softly, gently reminding her what a truly terrible idea that would be.

"Maybe not," Emma laughed, waiting patiently for the water to boil over the fire.

"I will get some fresh towels because God knows he will have forgotten that too." Mary Margaret smiled, shaking her head lightly as she got off her chair and disappeared in the back. By the time Mary Margaret came back, the first bucket of water had come to a boil and Emma'd hung up a second one already, getting ready to go upstairs.

Once upstairs, she knocked the door to the bathroom softly, receiving a reluctant invite to come inside.

Mr Jones sat against the tin tub, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He wasn't going to ask for it, so once again she offered her help.

"I don't know how to get the water warm," he sulked. Emma walked further inside, seeing the mess he'd made of the tub. Firstly, he'd filled it up way too far, if he were to sit in it now, it would surely overflow. Secondly, he did not account for the buckets of boiling water either - he did not account for warm water at all.

Emma rolled up her sleeves and reached into the tub to drain it a little before adding the bucket of warm water. "I am going to get the next bucket, don't get in yet, it is not warm enough yet." She spoke clearly, making sure she heard him. He nodded lazily, not making any movements to get up.

"How is he?" Mary Margaret asked when Emma entered the kitchen, it was pleasantly warm due to the boiling water and burning fire of the oven - warmer than it was in the bathroom at least - and truthfully she'd rather stay downstairs now. Ella had seemed to go to bed already, leaving Mary Margaret and Ruby to sit across each other and converse as they usually did before bed.

"Drunk, a little confused as to why there is no warm water coming from the pump."

Ruby grinned, "Now that would be a luxury, imagine being able to take a bath and the water would be warm already."

"That sounds nice," Mary Margaret agreed, "Maybe one day someone will invent such a thing."

Emma laughed in agreement, clearly having given them another subject to talk about, she went back upstairs with the second bucket.

Emma walked into the bathroom without knocking this time, but Mr Jones did not seem to mind, in fact, he did not look up at all. Emptying the second bucket in the tub left the water slightly warmer than was pleasant for her, but she knew Mr Jones liked his baths warmer than what she considered normal.

"All right, you can take your bath," Emma stated, setting down the bucket by the door and laying the towels within reach for after his bath.

Upon hearing a grunt behind her she looked up, he was fumbling with the small buttons of his vest, getting angry as he was unable to open them. Yes, he may have hired her to look after his daughter, but times like these made it seem as if there were two children in this household.

Emma stepped closer, brushing his hands away as she grew impatient with his messy way of opening his vest.

"I haven't had a woman unbutton my vest so impatiently since -" he stopped abruptly as if realising that what had started as a flirty sentence would end up more painful than intended. Emma chose to ignore it, for lack of better response.

"Anything else I can help with?"

"No," he answered, his painful memories clearly having sobered him up a little. He seemed tired, or perhaps exhausted came closer.

"Do you wish for me to check up on you in a while?"

"That does not seem like a terrible idea," he admitted, feeling the water by slowly running his hand through it. "Half an hour maybe?"

"All right," Emma agreed, closing the door behind her.

* * *

After holding her ear to the bathroom door, to hear if she could hear him still, Emma knocked the door softly. Upon no response, she opened the door slightly and stuck her head around the corner. Lord Jones sat in the tub still, though he had fallen asleep and slipped down until the water reached his chin.

"Mr Jones?" Emma asked from her position by the door. He mumbled something incoherent in his sleep as a response. "Mr Jones?" She tried again, a little louder this time.

"What?" He groaned, brushing a wet hand over his eyes.

"You are sleeping in the tub."

Mr Jones suddenly jerked awake, splashing a large portion of the water onto the floor. He looked at her with wide though tired eyes. "Why are you here?"

"I told you I would come check up on you after half an hour, it's been thirty minutes and you've fallen asleep, would you rather I let you sleep in the tub?"

"No," he groaned, "hand me a towel." Emma stepped closer, taking a towel off the counter and handing it to him. She made sure to look everywhere else but him, mostly keeping her back towards him.

"May I leave?" She asked, clearly uncomfortable.

"No," he said again. She heard the water slosh as he stepped out of the tub. Staring at the wall and trying to focus on anything else but the sound of the towel rubbing over his naked skin was no use as she was hyperaware of every movement he made. It was so silent she even heard his uneven breathing, which made her realise that she was barely breathing herself; taking a small breath every so often to keep herself as silent as possible.

"Where are my sleeping garments?" His words weren't as slurred as they had been before though he was tired and the alcohol clearly still affected him. Maybe he was simply too tired to fight its grip on him, or it was just easier to fall back asleep, once in his bed.

"You did not bring any," Emma noticed as she looked at the empty counter. "I'll fetch you some," she quickly offered, relieved to have a reason to leave the bathroom. He hummed in response, took a deep breath and followed her outside. Emma quickly turned around to halt him, deciding that no one should have to see a drunken, naked Mr Jones walking through the hallways, only to see he had wrapped the towel lowly around his waist. She did not dare to look at him for too long, but what she saw was enough to colour her cheeks bright red; dark hair that started at his chest and trailed all the way down until it disappeared behind the towel. He stood rather close now, nearly bumped into her at her abrupt halt, but made no advances to take a step back.

He arched a challenging eyebrow, "Taking a peek, are we?"

"I thought you were still uncovered," she protested.

"And thus, you thought it best to turn around and face me?" Emma blushed vigorously, swallowing thickly.

"I um - eh, I -" she stammered incoherently until she closed her eyes, taking a brief moment to regain control of her train of thoughts. "Why are you following me, I told you I would fetch your sleeping garments," she decided upon in the end, refusing to give him any more material to embarrass her further with.

"Which are in my room, incidentally, also the place I sleep. I may as well get dressed in my room," he shrugged, the towel slipped down a little as he did so, though Emma was quick to look away from him. Though from the corner of her eye, she could see him look at her with an amused grin while tightening the towel. Emma was certain that tomorrow, if he remembered anything at all, he wouldn't find any of this amusing at all. "Shall we?"

Emma nodded quickly, turning around to go to his bedroom at a fast pace. He strolled leisurely behind her, each step she took he fell further behind, something she was grateful as she now had a short minute to regain her composure and fight the blush that had crept up on her pale cheeks. She opened his wardrobe drawer and picked out an easy set, that even in his drunken state would be easy to put on - because the gods knew she did not want to help him get dressed - and laid them out on the bed.

Emma walked over to the grand window across the bed briefly looking behind her as the door fell closed, he looked a little lost, standing in the middle of the room. "I've laid your garments on the bed, milord," Emma pushed giving him a hint as to what to do next.

"Right," he nodded. "Can you light the fire?"

Emma frowned as she closed the window and pulled the heavy curtains closed, "it's already lit, Sir."

"Add more wood to the fire," it wasn't so much a command, more a tired, incoherent, explanation of tired thoughts.

"Yes milord," She replied and did as tasked. "Anything else?" She questioned while poking the fire, it's warm glow reminding her that instead of taking care of his drunken ass, she could have been curled up at the fire with a nice book, in the library or the grand salon, whichever, it didn't matter.

"No," he mumbled after a while, looking behind her revealed him sitting at the foot end of the bed, a little slouched, as if he was waiting for Emma to tuck him in.

Realising he was wearing his shirt backwards, she quickly turned back to face the fire, her hand covering her mouth as she tried to hold back her laugh. Though a snort did manage to escape her, he didn't seem to hear it, clearly lost in drunken thoughts.

Emma rose to her feet again, placing the fire poker back in its spot and turning to face Mr Jones.

"You're wearing your shirt backwards, Sir," she tried, finally having calmed down her fit of laughter. He looked a defeated, looking up at her with sad, tired eyes. She almost felt guilty leaving him alone in his large empty room, but what was she to do, stay with him for the night? Certainly that was not an option she was genuinely considering.

"Let me help you," she whispered, taking the cloth of his shirt in her hands and pulling it over his head, then putting it on the right way. "Will you be all right?"

"No," he sighed.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment, contemplating if he could truly speak his mind - a sign that he was sobering up at last - before deciding on, "No, you may leave."

"May I ask you something first, milord?"

He chuckled just lightly, almost sad even, "You are always so full of questions, why are you asking for permission?"

"Because I get the impression I might actually get an answer this time."

Mr Jones sighed deeply, throwing up his arms, "Go ahead."

"Is this what you were like before?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just, laughter, jokes, flirtatious, a lot looser..."

"Before what?"

"Before your wife died Sir," Emma answered gently, convinced he would throw her out of the room in a heartbeat. But he looked at her and for a second it almost seemed as if for the first time he was actually looking at her; his head tilted the slightest bit, his lips parted a little and he did not tear his eyes away from her.

She became very aware of herself, and of how she subconsciously had mimicked his posture, down to the head-tilt and parted lips. She wanted to run, but her body felt too heavy to move.

She would have asked him what he was thinking at that moment, but she expected his thoughts to be as incoherent as her own - even if she was not the one who had spent the entire day drinking.

"Um," he pursed his lips, as if finally remembering that she had asked him a question. "I guess," he mumbled at last.

Emma frowned, finally understanding, "It's why you drink, is it not? To forget and to feel like that again?"

"I'd like you to leave now," he sighed again, crawling under the blankets, giving her a clear indication that the conversation was over.

She nodded, "Goodnight, milord."

He grumbled something in response, something that only barely resembled a 'goodnight'.

* * *

 _ **Notes:**_

 _ **Thank you for the immense support of the previous chapter (and this fic in general) I am constantly blown away by your kindness.**_  
 _ **Your reviews, comments, and constructive criticism bring a smile to my face and truly motivate me to write this story.**_

 _ **Thank you so much!**_


	5. Five

_December 2nd, 1815._

Low whispers on the floor below caught her attention while walking through the hallway after putting Grace to bed. As she descended down the staircase, she saw Mr Jones conversing with Ella. Neither looked very happy - and Mr Jones looked drunk once again. But at least, unlike last night, no one was yelling this time.

He caught sight of her and his already scowling expression grew just a bit colder. He murmured something to Ella and looked back to Emma once more before turning around to his office, very clearly locking it behind him.

Ella turned around with a sceptical smile, walking with Emma to the kitchen.

"What did he want?" Emma questioned, setting Grace's mug in the sink, quickly washing it.

"To apologise," Ella laughed, though, like Emma, she was clearly unbelieving of it as well. Emma wasn't about to go ask him, but she wondered just how sincere his apology was. Surely he gained nothing by it, if anything it showed he knew his actions last night were wrong. Perhaps he was even ashamed, though if that was the case, his shame had been well-hidden by his never-faltering scowl.

"How drunk is this man?" Ruby chuckled, putting a paper bag full of ingredients on the middle table.

"Quite," Ella grinned.

"I saw the way he looked at me, did he say anything?"

"Yes, he told me to keep you away from him tomorrow."

Emma should have been offended, she should have wondered why this man hated her so much when she had done nothing to him, but her first thought was with Grace - as was often the case lately. "Tomorrow? Will he not celebrate Grace's birthday with her?"

"No," Ruby answered. "He gives us a little extra coin to buy special ingredients to make her favourite meal and desert, and buy her a present. Aside from that, he hides in his office the entire day."

"That's horrible!" Emma protested, crossing her arms in front of her, unable to hide her dismay.

"At least by now Grace is old enough to understand why he won't be joining us," Ruby shrugged. Once more, it baffled Emma how easily they accepted this situation. In previous households, the parents weren't always present either, but at least they celebrated the children's birthdays with them. It did not make a whole lot of sense to her that someone would be hurting this much up until the point they neglected their own child.

"Should I help?" Ella asked, yawning. It was clear the girl only offered help out of courtesy, but she had clearly not slept well last night. Perhaps her run-in with Mr Jones had affected her more than she let on.

"No, we will be fine," Ruby replied with a smile, sorting through the bag and picking out the ingredients for a cake. "Good night."

"Good night," Ella nodded gratefully, quickly leaving the kitchen, shutting the door softly behind her almost at the same time Mary Margaret entered through the other door, followed by the gardener David. Ruby flashed her a grin, but Mary Margaret shook her head, soundlessly telling her to stop teasing.

"Emma," Mary Margaret started, sitting down next to her. David, like the polite gentleman he was, sat down across her. Though his eyes lingered on Mary Margaret just a little longer than was proper, the blush on her cheeks betrayed she knew, but she clearly chose not to mention it, or even return the look. "As I was changing your sheets I saw a large bear in your room-"

"Oh, he's not for me, he is for Grace," Emma laughed.

"I figured," Mary Margaret chuckled. "I meant to ask, will you be wrapping him up?"

"I considered it," Emma replied. "But he's so large, I have no idea where to start."

"I still have some ribbon left, perhaps you could tie it around his neck," she offered. Emma nodded with a thankful smile. "How will you celebrate her birthday?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "I did not think I would be spending it with her at all."

"Mr Jones doesn't spend it with his daughter?" David asked with a frown.

Emma nodded quickly, finally someone who understood her and did not simply accept it without at least questioning it, "I was as baffled as you are. As for what to do... Well, there is no ballet class tomorrow, so perhaps I could take her to the city. She could use a few new dresses."

"I think she'd like that," Mary Margaret said.

"Will you be making her a birthday dinner?"

"Actually..." Ruby started, "I was hoping you would make the cake?"

"Of course," Emma replied.

And so the rest of the evening was spent baking and preparing for tomorrow's dinner.

* * *

 _December 3rd, 1815._

"Happy birthday Gracie!" Emma opened the door to Grace's room, holding the giant bear with a red bow around its neck behind her, though it was rather hard, the bear was as good as half Emma's height. It was the bear that Grace had eyed for six weeks now; every Sunday after ballet Grace slowed down before the small toy store and stared at the large bear lovingly.

When Emma received her pay check two days ago, Emma immediately went to the little shop and bought it. Whilst her wages were more than she had ever made in her life before, she could only afford the bear and it's standard outfit; a red vest. Mary Margaret had given her a leftover piece of ribbon that she had used to decorate the basket of cookies for the gardener, and helped Emma tie it around his neck.

"What have you got behind your back?" Grace asked tiredly, yawning as she sat up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes so that she could try to get a better look.

"Close your eyes," Emma smiled. "Are they closed?"

"Yes," Grace said impatiently, soft creaking betrayed she wiggled in her bed enthusiastically.

"No peeking!" Emma laughed, opening the curtains to the first two windows, knowing that keeping Grace waiting until she opened all five curtains would result in peeking eventually. But the soft winter sun shone just bright enough to light up the room in gorgeous golden rays through two windows anyhow.

Grace had both hands in front of her eyes, excited giggles escaping her lips while she tried to sit still. It was an adorable sight and Emma contemplated letting her sit like that for just a moment longer, but then realised it was best not to test the birthday girl's patience; Gods above knew she had little.

Emma held the large bear before her, making sure the bow around its neck was fluffed out and as big as possible. "All right, you can look."

Grace took her hands away and as soon as her eyes adjusted to the light, her eyes widened even further.

"It is -" she crawled out of bed, taking large steps towards Emma, "It is the bear! The bear from the shop!" Grace looked up at her with watery eyes, "Thank you, Emma, he is beautiful."

"I'm happy you like him," Emma answered, opening the remaining curtains as well as one window to allow some fresh air inside.

When she turned around Grace still stood in the same spot, the bear hugged tightly to her chest, a tear rolling from her cheek onto its soft fur, she brushed it away quickly.

"What's wrong, darling?" Emma questioned, walking closer.

"I just remembered what day it is," Grace answered sadly.

"Your birthday?" Emma asked, puzzled.

"Yes, but it's also the day mother died. And every year, father locks himself in his office. He doesn't talk to me, he doesn't talk to anyone. Last year he didn't even tuck me in, he didn't even say goodnight."  
Emma knelt down in front of her, wiping away her tears with a gentle hand, "I know that hurts, darling, but how about we don't think about that today and instead we do things you like, such as go to town and we buy a new dress."

"Can I have a dress like yours?" Grace brushed her small hand over the soft pastel blue linen of Emma's dress.

"Absolutely."

"Can I have two dresses?" Grace tried with a tentative smile.

"Of course," Emma replied, happy the distraction was somewhat working. She understood Lord Jones was hurting and that this was a difficult day for him, but it shouldn't be at the expense of Grace.

"What about cake?"

Emma shook her head with a faux-disapproving look, "What would be a birthday without cake?" Grace smiled and wrapped her arms around Emma's neck, the bear squished between the two girls.

"Thank you, Emma."

"Anything for you," Emma promised, hugging her just a little tighter before letting go. "Are you taking that bear downstairs, or?"

"Of course, I need to show Ruby and Mary Margaret," Grace replied, walking out of the room before Emma could object or even mention that they had already seen the bear.

Throughout the entire morning, wherever Grace went, servants wished her a happy birthday, and Grace in return showed her new bear and started an extensive conversation, each time finding something new about the bear to talk about.

Upon showing Ruby and Mary Margaret, the three of them decided that the bear could not live his life without a name and lovingly named it Maximus.

After having shown the bear to every soul in the mansion, apart from Mr Jones, Emma suggested bringing the bear back to Grace's room. But Grace objected, told her it was her birthday so she could do anything she wanted, and kept Maximus by her side. And so Maximus sat between Emma and Grace at breakfast.

Emma at least managed to convince Grace that it would be a good idea to leave Maximus at home while they went to the city. Grace was not too happy about it, but after Emma said that she would have to carry him everywhere she went, Grace sighed and agreed. "He is quite heavy," she'd said.

The ride to the city was an easy one, no fresh snow had fallen overnight and the main roads were relatively clear of snow by now.

An easy one, but a silent one.

Grace sat across her, staring out of the window of the carriage. She had not spoken a word since they had left the mansion, and it did not seem as if she was going to start talking soon. It was quite an odd thing, Grace, who was usually so talkative that you would almost ask her to keep her mouth shut for just a moment, did not utter any words at all.

Emma could quite easily forget that this little girl only just turned seven today, she kept herself so strong, almost as if she kept herself strong because her father couldn't. Grace never complained, never asked for anything, she just smiled and accepted things as they were. She was unlike any child Emma had ever met.

Upon their arrival at the city Emma told Thomas to wait a moment before opening the door, asking for just one more moment with Grace alone.

"Are you all right, Gracie?" Emma asked softly, breaking the long silence between them.

"Yes," Grace replied, mirroring Emma's soft voice.

"You don't have to lie to me. You can tell me anything you like," Emma urged.

"Please don't tell father..."

"I won't," Emma agreed. Grace eyed her suspiciously. "I promise, Gracie."

"Sometimes I wish father would speak to me about mother. I wish he wouldn't hurt this much. I wish he would spend more time with me," Grace sighed deeply, quickly wiping away a tear, stubbornly looking away from her. There was something in the way her brow furrowed, the way she fought against sad thoughts, that made it very clear she was her father's daughter. Headstrong insistence that they weren't hurting inside, but all the while it was tearing them apart.

"Grace, it is all right if you want to cry," Emma reached out for her, Grace easily switched seats, allowing her tears to flow as she buried herself into Emma's arms.

"Sometimes it feels like he is punishing me for looking like her. It feels like he doesn't love me at all."

"I know it feels like that, but surely you must know that your father loves you very much."

"I do not think he remembers how to love me," Grace sniffed, pulling back just slightly so she could look at Emma. "If he is home at all, he does not spend time with me. He leaves without saying goodbye and I do not know when or if he comes back."

"Why can I not speak with your father about this?"

"Because he is hurting and I do not want to make him feel worse than he already does," Grace sighed.

"Darling, I know you are mature for your age, but you are still a child. You should not have to worry about your father, he should have to worry about you. You should still be allowed to be a child," Emma gave her a small smile, brushing thick curls behind Grace's ear. "If you do not wish me to talk to your father, I won't. But I do not condone that you are suffering because he is."

"All right, but not today. I do not think that he will appreciate your help on this day."

Emma chuckled, wiping away Grace's tears, "I do not think he appreciates my help on any day. But I understand your meaning. Is there anything else troubling you?"

"No," Grace answered.

"How are you feeling?"

Grace smiled, wrapping her arms tightly around Emma's neck. "Better," she whispered. "Thank you."

"Good," Emma replied, returning the hug, then ticking the small window. Thomas opened the door, offering his hand to help both Emma and Grace out of the carriage.

"Shall I wait here?" He questioned as he closed the carriage door.

"Yes please, thank you," Emma said, leaving to enter the city with Grace.

Though Grace did not immediately return to her talkative self, a smile was once again present on her lips. A smile that grew as the afternoon progressed.

Grace shared with Emma the few things she knew about her mother. Milah enjoyed travelling, her favourite colour was blue, and she loved reading. And those were the only things she really knew or remembered, things Ruby told her before Mr Jones forbade everyone to speak of her.

Another selfish decision, Emma realised, but she would not tell Grace this. Not when she was musing over the things her mother probably enjoyed doing. Grace reasoned that because there was a pool and her father let it wither, she must have loved swimming. And that the swing in the garden was her mother's before it was hers.

On the ride back home, Grace was much more talkative and she could not keep her hands off the dresses she picked at the store.

Once home, Grace was surprised with her favourite meal, presented for her in the dining room, nicely decorated with colourful paper lanterns for the festive occasion.

And afterwards, the cake she had asked about more than once throughout the day.

Ruby sat down the cake in front of Grace and Emma lit the candles on the cake, giving Grace an encouraging nod as everyone watched her with amusement.

"What am I supposed to do?" Grace whispered with a frown.

"You have to blow them out," Emma laughed.

"Oh," Grace's frown did not falter, if anything she looked more confused, but she took a deep breath anyway.

"No wait!" Emma quickly said before Grace could blow out the candles, "You have to make a wish, Gracie. You get one birthday wish, when you blow out all the candles at once, it'll come true."

Grace smiled widely, closing her eyes for a moment before blowing all seven candles at once. She looked up hopefully at Emma who clapped along with the rest of the people around her. Ruby took the candles off the cake and cut off pieces for everyone.

Grace did not even finish her piece of cake before getting up from her chair.

"I will be right back," she told Emma and left the room hastily, the door only barely falling shut behind her. Emma frowned as she watched her leave the room, but Ruby drew her back into the conversation.

Emma had not realised just how long she had been gone until the clock hit nine, Ruby and Mary Margaret having left already and Grace's piece of cake still sat on its plate, untouched.

"I'm going to see what's taking so long," Emma announced. She received a few nods, but no one really strayed from conversation. She took a candle from the table and entered the dark hallway, calling out for Grace a few times, to no avail.

Emma pursed her lips as Grace was not in her room either, Maximus still sitting on Grace's bed. Where could she -

And then it dawned upon her.

She made her way down the stairs where she found Grace sitting in the dark hallway, next to the door to her father's office. Even here, the candles on the wall had long burnt out, the person who was supposed to replace them was likely too engaged in conversation and busy eating cake to bother remembering to replace them, but Grace didn't seem to mind sitting in the dark.

"Gracie?" She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her arms tightly wrapped around her legs as her chin leant onto her knees. Grace stared at the wall before her and remained unmoved even as Emma called for her.

"Grace?" Emma tried again, placing the candle on the floor and kneeling down before her.

"He won't let me in," Grace sniffed, her thick voice betrayed just how tired she was.. Finally, she looked up, wiping her tears and drippy nose on her sleeve. Ruby would have berated her for it, Emma knew, but right now she was more worried for Grace than for a gown. "Emma you said my wish would come true!"

"Oh Gracie," Emma sighed, guilt-ridden. "Darling, I am so sorry."

"So it won't come true?"

"No Gracie, I am truly sorry."

"Does this mean father will never be happy?" Grace sniffed, once more wiping her tears on her sleeve.

"Is that what you wished for? For your father to be happy?" Grace nodded. Emma reached out to brush a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "Tomorrow he will talk to you."

"It is not fair, why is he punishing me for something I did not do?"

"No Gracie," Emma smiled sadly. "He is not punishing you, he is punishing himself."

Grace sighed, wiping away more tears, "Emma, may I ask something of you?"

"Of course."

"Could you please ask him to come say goodnight at least?"

"I'll try," Emma answered, "Go to bed, I will come tuck you in." Grace nodded and got up slowly.

Emma knocked the door silently and announced herself though she knew that if he wouldn't even let his daughter in, the odds of him letting her in would be minimal. "Sir, I will come in -" she heard a loud scoff. Emma tried opening the door in vain, surely Grace must have tried that already. Bringing her ear to the door she heard soft laughter - he was mocking her now and it only fuelled to her anger.

She sunk to her knees, her dress pooling around her as she leant over to inspect the lock. As a child in the orphanage, Emma was rather familiar with the art of lock picking. Not that she was incredibly proud of it, it was certainly not a skill a lady should have. But thinking back to that time some older kids locked her and another girl in the cupboard under the stairs where all brooms were kept, she had been glad she could free herself and the girl.

Other perks had included sneaking out in the middle of the night and stealing a cookie from the locked cupboard when she had been denied dessert.

Upon swinging the door to his office open, Mr Jones rose to his shaking legs, his tear stained cheeks were red, burning with alcohol. A bottle that had been nearly full when she last saw it now stood empty on his desk.

Mr Jones leant on his desk with both hands, fingers spread wide. Surely he wanted to look intimidating, but to Emma, it merely seemed as if he wanted to find extra stability. She took a moment to collect herself; Emma understood why the door had been locked - she wouldn't want anyone to see her in this state either.

Killian sunk back in his chair as if realising his posture wasn't helping him. "I should fire you," he slurred. Emma nodded once, turning to the bar cart next to the red chair and pouring him a glass of water.

"Yes," Emma spoke softly, offering him the glass of water - which he refused like a stubborn child. "Tomorrow, maybe. But right now I need you to sober up and go say goodnight to your daughter first, she has no idea why you are punishing her."

"I'm not punishing her," he barked, but took the glass anyway and drank it up. It hadn't taken Emma long to figure out that his daughter was his weak spot, and maybe it was unfair to use it against him like that. But looking at him, sitting nonchalantly in his chair, she knew that nothing else would work on him right now.

"No," Emma agreed, refilling his glass. "You are punishing yourself, I know that, Ruby knows that, everyone does, except Grace."

"This is ridiculous," he sighed, glaring at her over the rim of his glass as he emptied that one too.

"For your daughter," she tried softly, pursing her lips together in a tight smile and filled his glass again once more.

"You care enough for her to put your job at stake by doing this?" This time complaining only mildly as he downed his glass.

"I do," Emma stated, wanting to refill his glass, but he held his hand up.

"I am fine," he protested with a heavy voice and got up, taking a moment to make sure he stood steadily enough to walk out of the room. "We will talk later, Miss Emma," He dismissed her sternly.

"Yes milord," she answered, yet followed him outside his office, making sure he made it up the stairs without falling down.

Emma gave one last glance at the stairs before going to the kitchen. Ruby stood by the table, hands deep in sticky dough.

"Need help?" Emma grinned.

"A bit more flour, I think," Ruby laughed. Emma reached over to the large bag of flour and tossed some on the dough.

"Have you been speaking with Mary Margaret again?"

"What do you mean?"

"You told me once that you rarely mess up this dough, then Mary Margaret replied that an earlier subject had left you flustered enough to mess it up."

"Ah," Ruby chuckled, remembering. "No, not today. Today is just a stressful day for everyone."

"I understand," Emma answered, boiling a kettle over a fire. "Did you know her?"

"Briefly," Ruby answered. "I had only been working for them for a little less than a year when she passed away."

"What was she like?"

Ruby smiled, thinking for a moment, "She was lovely and very kind to us. If you needed something all you had to do was ask. If there was a family matter, she would offer to walk you there. And Killian, if he could, he would have given her the world."

"He must have loved her a lot," Emma smiled sadly.

"Yes," Ruby breathed out softly. "I think the matter that he still mourns her vouches for that."

Emma nodded in agreement, "I just wish it wasn't at Grace's expense."

"There is nothing we can do about it, unfortunately."

"I think I just did," Emma mumbled, preparing the cup of tea. "He just went to tuck her in."

"No?" Ruby looked up from the dough with wide eyes. "How did you manage that?"

"I got angry with him."

"And now you are bringing him a cup of tea as a peace offering?" She grinned.

"Hope it works," Emma chuckled, pushing the door open with her shoulder. A quick glance at his office revealed it empty and so she made it up the stairs, meaning to visit Grace's room, however, the door to the grand salon was now open and a candlelight glow poured into the hallway.

The grand salon was cold even though the fire was lit. Mr Jones sat knelt before the fire, absently poking it with a fire iron.

"She told me to tell you _I love you_ ," He mumbled without looking up. "I mean, she loves you not -"

"I am aware of how you feel about me, milord, you do not need to clarify." Emma walked up to him with soft footsteps, offering him the cup of steaming tea.

He rose to his feet, placing the fire poker back in its spot. "I do not need to be mothered by you, Miss Emma," he scolded, refusing the cup. He stood close enough to her for her to smell the lingering scent of the rum, though he was relatively sobered up - or, at least, he was trying to look sober.

"I know," Emma smiled, keeping her voice gentle and calm. "But sometimes it can be nice to be taken care of. As well as finding comfort in something else than rum." Mr Jones frowned at her as she kept insisting for him to take the mug. Then he took it, even if he looked a little sceptical, she had found it a small victory, a first step.

He hummed stubbornly, taking a seat. From then on he looked at the ground, his eyes steadily focused on the fluffy carpet, his lips a tight line. His body seemed tense, his hands shook while he tried to hold the cup steadily in his hands.

Emma knelt down in front of him. "Would you like to talk?" She asked.

"No," he snarled.

Emma nodded, keeping her voice a calm whisper, there was no use in getting angrier with him. Kindness could be just as effective. "All right." She gently took his hands in hers, the warm mug still between his. Mr Jones' hands were cold and even beneath her steady hands, she could feel his shaking. The look he gave her went from confused to accepting. Accepting her touch, accepting her desire to help.

She knew words would not soothe him right now and while he would pretend that her remaining silent at his feet, his hands in hers, was unwelcome, she knew that this was the most help she could offer him right now. Leaving him alone to his rum was not an option, even if he would leave for bed soon.

Mr Jones pried one hand free to take a sip of his tea, then placed his hand back in hers - perhaps her touch was not as unwelcome as he would feign. When she looked up at him, the flames danced calmly in his eyes and though they were still sad, his blue eyes met hers and she almost saw a hint of a 'thank you' in there.

The heat of the flames behind were pleasantly warm on her back now, they cast a ray of golden light onto her bare arms. They sat in silence for quite a while, sometimes she looked at him but all she saw was sadness and distant thoughts. Every so often he would look at her too and give her a slight smile that did not quite reach his tired eyes.

The clock behind them indicated ten o'clock and had Emma not held on to his hands, surely the nearly empty mug would have tumbled down from his hands. Mr Jones tried masking his flinch with a cough, but one look at Emma revealed she did not buy it.

He cleared his throat at the tenth stroke of the clock, scratching behind his ear briefly before returning his hand back to hers, lightly stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. "I'd like to go," he broke the silence softly.

"Would you like me to draw you a bath, Sir?"

"No, I'm fine," Mr Jones got up, releasing her hands. "I will retire to my chamber now," he took a step away from her before turning around, looking a little lost, staring at the mug in his hands.

"I'll take it," Emma said, reaching out for it, the last bit of tea had gone cold, but the mug itself was as warm as his hands, as his fingers that grazed after hers before turning around to leave the room.

* * *

 _ **Notes:**_

 _Once again, thank you so, so much, for the incredible support you guys have shown me. Personally, I really can't wait for you guys to see the development in their relationship I have written for you, and I hope you will love this story just as much as I do!_  
 _Lots of love and thanks_


	6. Six

_Two weeks before Christmas, 1815._

Emma had thought that after Grace's birthday, she would have finally gotten through to him. Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth. Lord Jones quickly fell back into his old ways of drinking and hiding himself from Emma. And Grace. He refused any help and got angry with whoever would offer it to him.

Eventually, Emma's seemingly endless patience with him started wearing thin and whatever civility she had treated him with before completely dissolved. Mr Jones, in return, did not seem to care at all and let it wash over him, consequently, Grace became more and more convinced that her father never loved her to begin with.

Day after day Emma tried finding new ways to assure Grace of her father's love, but with every passing day, it became harder to convince her that he did.

She had just left Grace with Mr Jefferson for her daily classes, meaning to go to the kitchen, when she saw Mr Jones making way for the front door, carrying a suitcase in one hand, his coat under his other arm.

"Milord?" Emma questioned while stepping down the stairs. She could see his shoulders rise, as if he was taking a deep breath.

"What is it, Miss Emma?" He groaned as he dropped his suitcase to get a better grip on his coat while turning around to look at her with annoyance.

"You are leaving?" Emma frowned, tilting her head, walking past him and positioning herself between him and the front door.

"Truly?" He sighed, picking up his suitcase again. "That is your question? You see me holding a suitcase, what else would I be doing?"

"But you cannot leave," She protested, holding up her hand to get him to stop, but he walked straight past her like she hadn't even stood there in the first place.

"And yet, I am. Now stop delaying me, for I have no desire to miss the ship."

"Ship?"

"Miss Emma, I know you are uneducated, but surely you must know what a ship is," He smiled, reaching for the door behind her, opening it just slightly.

"I will ignore your disgusting statement," Emma growled, smacking the door closed before him, leaning her body against it. "I know what a ship is and what it means. It means you will be gone for at least a few weeks, which means you will miss Christmas."

Mr Jones chuckled dryly, "Darling, we don't celebrate Christmas in this household. Now let me pass."

She frowned up at him, he stood too close now, much closer than was appropriate. He was intimidating her and she knew, but Emma wouldn't be the one to back down; she knew that as well.

It also dawned upon her that he'd just called her darling, she would have blushed about it, it would have left her flustered, stuttering her next words until she saw herself out, if only he had not used the word like it had no value to him. Emma did not know why it irked her quite so much, but it did.

She lowered her voice, hoping that her anger would not seep through. Instead, she found herself sounding rather confused, "What – What do you mean you do not celebrate Christmas?"

"We simply don't," He opened the door with her still against it, forcing her to take steps forward. "Goodbye Miss Emma," He said sternly, making sure she knew the subject was not open for debate.

"Stubborn arse," Emma muttered under her breath as he stepped down the front stairs.

"I heard that," he yelled after her without looking back, but he was clearly smiling, perhaps he was even genuinely amused.

"Good!" She returned. This time, he did look back, flashing her a cocky grin before stepping into the carriage. Emma went back inside, closing the door behind her and leant against it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. As she released it and opened her eyes, Ruby stood across her, staring at her with that signature wolf–like grin of hers.

"You all right?" She rose her eyebrows playfully.

"Yes," Emma answered, stepping alongside her towards the kitchen. Ruby pushed the door to the kitchen open with her shoulder. The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee, baked bread and a hint of the spices Ruby often used to season her dishes. It was always pleasantly warm due to the oven that practically worked all day, today being no different. Emma nodded at Mary Margaret with a smile, acknowledging her presence as she sat down next to her. "How did you celebrate Christmas last year?"

"Oh, we have not celebrated it since the Mrs died," Ruby answered. "Killian practically forbade it."

"Did he give Grace gifts at all?"

"No," Ruby replied. "We did give Grace gifts in secret every year," She grinned. "But specifically the last two years, she often told her father about the gifts anyway. He wasn't too happy about it."

"Can you blame her?" Mary Margaret questioned, rising up from her chair to pour three cups of coffee, "You try telling a child to be silent about something she is overjoyed about."

Ruby hummed in agreement, taking a cutting board and a knife so that she could start preparing dinner for tonight, "Quite a difficult task, indeed."

"I would like to set up a Christmas tree," Emma spoke up after a moment of silence.

Ruby looked up at her with a teasing frown, "I thought you liked your job."

Emma chuckled, "I do! I just think that Christmas is too important to simply ignore."

"All right," Ruby nodded, "And what if he sees?"

"He will not be here anyway," Emma smiled smugly. "If he disagrees with me, he should have been here to tell me."

"Oh, he will tell you, I am certain of it."

"I think it is a good idea," Mary Margaret chimed in. "Perhaps you can ask David and August to accompany you to the forest and pick out a tree?"

"Please stop giving her ideas, I like her," Ruby groaned, opening the door that led to the pantry.

"Don't listen to her," Mary Margaret whispered while leaning closer. "Just ask David to help you, I am certain he would be more than willing to lend a hand, same goes for August."

"Did I not tell you to stop giving her ideas?" Ruby suddenly stood behind them, making them both flinch. She grinned at that as she dumped a few vegetables on the table.

Mary Margaret uttered a stubborn hum, "All I'm saying is we could use some Christmas cheer, it has been so long. And somehow, I get the impression that he might not mind so much if we say it was Emma's idea."

"He likes her, but not that much," Ruby objected.

Emma choked on her coffee, "He likes me? Ha! When has he ever given you _that_ impression?"

"Look at her, she is so unaware, it is adorable," Ruby chuckled, handing her a tissue to wipe the coffee that spilt over her lips. "Not even _I_ can tell him what to do the way you do. He lets you yell at him, he lets you stand up to him. He has not tucked Grace into bed in years, you got him to sober up and tuck her in, all in one night."

"I did it for Grace," Emma offered.

"We have all tried things for Grace's benefit, yet you are the only one that ever got through to him," Mary Margaret smiled.

"It did not do much good, he just left without saying goodbye, even if I confronted him about that too."

"Small steps, but things are changing, he is changing, and that's good," Ruby said.

"Is that a yes to the Christmas tree?" Mary Margaret smiled, sitting up just a bit straighter, looking at her with large expectant eyes. Emma grinned and imitated her posture. "Please?" They pouted, voices in unison.

"Fine," Ruby sighed. "Go now, before I change my mind." Mary Margaret practically giggled in excitement at that, jumping from her chair and grabbing Emma by the arm, dragging her along through the mansion in search of David.

They found him in the sunroom, watering the few plants that were still there. Emma could not help herself, but her gaze drifted to the pool behind the windows on the right side wall. Even if no one had ever taught her how to swim, she found it a shame that a beautiful room such as the pool house was left to wither away.

David greeted them with a bright smile, "What can I do for you today?"

"We need a Christmas tree," Mary Margaret said.

"All right. Shall I grow you one?" He quipped.

"Charming," Mary Margaret smiled dryly. "Do not tease us."

"I would not dare to tease Emma," David grinned. "You on the other hand."

"Right," Emma cleared her throat, waving at them sarcastically. "Still here."

David chuckled at that, "So, a Christmas tree?"

"Fetch August and accompany Emma to the forest, pick out a tree and carry it back," Mary Margaret ordered.

"As milady commands," David smiled, bowing down to her. "When shall I perform this task for you?"

"As soon as possible," Emma replied.

"All right, let me fetch my coat, I gather you will need your cloak as well, and I will meet you at the stables," David smiled, bowing briefly before leaving them alone. Mary Margaret stared after him, her eyes following him out of the room, only looking back at Emma when David had left the room. Emma met her gaze with a grin.

"Don't," Mary Margaret warned, lifting a warning finger before exiting the room as well.

"I have not said a thing," Emma protested, following her.

"But you want to."

"Of course, there are so many things to say right now," Emma teased.

"I am begging you to not say a thing," Mary Margaret bit her lip, looking around her. "We will speak of this another time –"

"Will we?"

"No. I am hoping you will forget about it," She muttered. "Go fetch your cloak, he will be waiting." Emma nodded, curtsying before leaving in the direction of her room. Emma enjoyed the walk from the sunroom to her room, as the entirety of the wall on her left were windows; windows that gave her a beautiful view over the now snow covered garden and the dormant willow by the frozen lake.

After retrieving her cloak, her new scarf, and gloves from her room, Emma met David and August at the stables. Both of them carrying axes and rope.

"Good morning, Miss Emma," August smiled, lifting his hat.

"Morning, August," Emma curtsied.

"So we are off having an adventure, then, are we?" David asked, amusement all over his features.

Emma smiled, "It would appear so."

"But if Mr Jones asks, we were not your accomplices, right?" August questioned with a low chuckle.

"Absolutely not, Mr Booth, what kind of person do you take me for," Emma lifted her hand to her chest, feigning offence. "I cut down the tree and carried it back myself, of course," She grinned. "Shall we?"

They nodded, accompanying her to the forest edge. "I know a few pine trees a couple of steps North," August spoke up just before entering the forest. "I am certain you will find a tree to your liking there."

"Very well," Emma smiled, gesturing before her. "Lead the way." The men clearly had better shoes, more equipped to walk the forest, or they were used to the uneven terrain and obstacles of the woods, at least. Emma's strolls through the trees were limited to actual paths, never diverging from them.

After a few steps Emma had already fallen behind, but it did not take them long to notice. August held out his axe for David to take and walked back towards Emma, offering his arm.

"Thank you," Emma smiled shyly, hooking her arm in his. "It would appear I am not used to the forest ground."

"It is fine, nothing to worry about," He assured her with a smile. As they walked, Emma noticed every once in a while that he limped just a slight bit. She thought back to if she had noticed before, but each time she saw him, he either sat or was working in the garden.

"Are you in pain, August?" Emma asked softly.

"No, why – Oh, the limp?"

"Yes," Emma admitted shyly.

"No, I have had that for nearly five years now. The horse of my former employer stepped on and crushed my foot. It healed as best as it could, but the limp will always stay."

"Your previous employer?"

"Yes," August replied. "I have only worked for Mr Jones for two years. I was lucky that he was willing to hire me still." Emma gave him a small smile and nodded. She did not want to pry and further, but he had been lucky indeed, finding a job with an injury like that was quite hard these days. It reminded Emma of how Mr Jones had hired Ella even if she had been publicly disgraced at the time.

She liked learning these little things about him. She liked learning that, even if he had only just left his daughter without saying goodbye once again, he still had some soft spots left.

"Here we are," August spoke after a short walk. They stood in the middle of a small clearance, surrounded by pine trees of varying sizes. "What are you looking for exactly?"

"A tree that will fit in the Grand Salon," Emma answered bluntly, only barely keeping herself from shrugging. While Ruby, Mary Margaret or Grace did not quite care about the mannerism, and frequently did it themselves, Emma still thought it improper to shrug in front of men. Even if she was not a proper lady.

"That ought to give us plenty of choices," David grinned. "The ceiling is quite high."

"You will have to carry it up the stairs as well, so nothing too heavy."

"Not a problem," August chuckled, crossing his arms in front of him, as if to show off strength.

"That one," Emma pointed at a tree twice her size. "That should fit."

"Very well," August agreed, taking the axe David offered. "Step aside please, would not want you to be in harm's way."

"Can I not be of any assistance?" Emma questioned, keeping her cloak close to herself, trying to keep the cold winter air out.

"Do not be silly, Miss Emma," August grunted as he drove the axe into the wood, then chuckled. "Ladies should not perform heavy tasks."

"I am not a lady," Emma muttered stubbornly.

"But you are still a woman," David offered. "We will be fine, go sit down, we will be ready in a minute."

Emma sighed, brushing the snow off a fallen tree before sitting down. She leant her elbows on her knees, her head resting on her hands. While it was true that Emma would have never been able to cut down, drag the tree home, then set it up in the grand salon on her own, she still found it quite hard to idly sit by and let everyone else do the job for her.

"So, David," Emma started, chin still leaning on her gloved hands. "How are you liking your job so far?"

"Pays a lot more coin than my last job, that's for sure," He replied, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead away with his sleeve before chopping the axe in the tree again. "And the fellow servants are more fun to be around."

"Yes, Mary Margaret is very lovely," Emma pried. August looked up at her with a grin before looking at David, whose cheeks coloured even redder now.

"I do not –"

"You do not know what she is talking about, of course you are not," August interrupted him.

"Alright, I admit, Miss Blanchard is quite wonderful."

"Wonderful is she?" August teased. "Perhaps we ought to see how Miss Blanchard –"

"No!" David quickly spoke up. "You will not speak to her of this."

"Of course not," August promised, chopping once more into the tree. Suddenly the silence of the forest was filled with the cracking of wood, the last bit of the trunk breaking, and then the tree fell down. Emma rose from the fallen log that acted as her seat, watching the men tie the rope around the tree.

"I'm afraid I will not be able to accompany you now, Miss Emma," August said as he laid the rope over his shoulder.

"I will be all right," Emma promised, following them, using the path that the tree made. As they walked David tried bringing up Mary Margaret once more, but quickly shut his mouth as August kept relentlessly teasing him about it. She wanted to tell August to stop, but it was simply too funny to see David become beet red and stammer through every single sentence he managed to utter.

They carried the tree through the garden and through the mansion, up the stairs and set it up in the Grand Salon. After which Emma patiently waited, with a book before the fire, until Grace's tutoring session was over.

Upon finally managing to calm Grace's excitement over _the tree as large as the one on the town square_ , Emma told Grace that they needed decorations for the tree, and Grace was quick to rise from her chair saying they needed to hurry before all the shops closed.

In the shops, Grace picked out a few glass ornaments after Emma advised against putting food in the tree. While candy canes would have been an option, Emma was fairly certain that putting apples and pastries in the tree would only make Mr Jones hate the idea even more.

Grace had laughed, yet agreed and picked out as many ornaments, garlands, and glass beads as the budget Ruby had given them would allow.

After giving the two heavy bags to Thomas to carry to the carriage, Emma and Grace stopped by the tailor shop, as one of the girls had requested for Emma to bring a few yards of fabric.

It was silent in the small shop, save from a quite eccentric man behind the counter, needle and thread in his hand, fixing a tear in a woman's gown.

"Emma?" Grace whispered, keeping her voice low enough as, if not to disturb the strange silence of the shop.

"Yes, darling?" Emma answered while looking up from the piece of fabric she was holding. Grace looked through the balls of yarn, running her small fingers over the soft thread.

"Do you know how to knit?" Grace asked, holding a dark navy blue ball of yarn in her hands.

"A bit, why?"

"Do you think you can teach me? I'd like to make a scarf for father."

"Of course," Emma smiled. "How did you come up with this idea?"

"Yesterday, after ballet some girls were talking about the gifts that were underneath their Christmas trees, and one girl said she was giving her father a scarf because he likes the things she makes. She said that her father always tells her how lovely the things she makes are. I just thought that maybe father would like that too, since he does not own a scarf…"

"That is a wonderful idea, Gracie," Emma smiled. "Is that the colour you'd like to use?"

"Yes," Grace replied, the smile on her lips almost shy.

"Take five balls, that will give you room for error," Emma signalled the man behind the corner, he looked up with a bright smile and practically skipped towards them.

"How may I assist you lovely ladies today?"

"I would like seven yards of this dark green fabric," Emma answered as she pointed at it. "And then five of these," she said as she took the balls of yarn from Grace, who struggled to hold all of them in her arms.

"Naturally," The man nodded, gesturing for them to go to the counter as he measured and cut the fabric for her.

Thomas stood outside by the glass door, waiting for them. Emma often told him that she did not need a chaperone, but Thomas insisted it was improper for ladies to walk the streets alone. However many times Emma insisted she was not a lady, Thomas brushed her objections off just as many times.

Like a true gentleman, he offered to carry her things – and offer she more often than not declined – and he insisted on walking between her and the street at all times – she was guilty of accepting that offer, however.

Once back at the mansion Thomas carried the bags of yarn and fabric, as well as the Christmas ornaments up to the Grand Salon and bid them farewell, after Emma expressed her gratitude more than once. Grace's impulsivity made it so that Emma often enough needed Thomas' assistance with the carriage, and even if it was unannounced, Thomas never complained about it.

Before getting to decorating, Grace had rushed to the kitchen with the intent of having Ruby and Mary Margaret join in decorating the tree. Unfortunately, Ruby was too busy in the kitchen, so it was up to Mary Margaret, Grace and Emma to decorate.

It took Grace a moment to truly figure out how she wanted to decorate the tree, _it's my first tree, I want it to be beautiful_. And so, whenever either Emma or Mary Margaret placed an ornament in the wrong spot, Grace made sure to berate them for it and hung the ornament in the _correct_ spot instead.

Eventually, Grace was left decorating the tree on her own, with a smile that never left her mouth, humming a soft tune, tilting her head to get a true artistic vision on the work she was creating.

In all honesty, it was a bit of a mess; the lower half was jam–packed while the top half barely had three decorations on them. But Emma agreed when Grace complimented herself on the work she delivered. Grace was too happy about it all to disagree with her.

Mary Margaret had long left them alone in the Grand Salon when Emma tried to teach a very impatient Grace how to knit. Naturally, Grace got angry with herself as well as the knitting tools when she could not get it to work from the first time.

Grace sat on the sofa, legs crossed improperly, looking intently as Emma showed her over and over again how it was done. It took her a while before Grace truly got the hang of it, and even then she often missed stitches, which only made her angrier.

"I do not think this is a good idea," Grace mumbled, sighing deeply as she tossed the patchwork away onto the floor. "It won't even look good and he will probably not even wear it anyway."

"Grace," Emma started, picking up the needles and yarn, pulling it all apart for her. "We still have two weeks to perfect your stitch, you just need some practice. Besides, I am certain your father will love it no matter what."

"Even if it looks bad?"

"Even so, because it is something that you spent time and effort on, so he will love it. Let's try again," Emma smiled, patiently showing Grace the stitch again.

* * *

 _Christmas Eve, 1815._

Emma sat at the table in the Grand Salon, bent over this morning's newspaper, it was nearly midnight when the doors opened. Mr Jones walked inside with a tired swagger, he was just about to open his mouth when he noticed the Christmas tree next to the fireplace.

"What's this?" Mr Jones grumbled, staring at it with disgust.

"It is a Christmas tree," Emma replied matter–of–factly without looking at him, instead scanning the newspaper for nothing in particular – not anymore at least. She had been scanning for news of sunken ships, like she often did when he went away and did not specify when he would be returning.

"I can see that, why?"

"Because it is Christmas," She answered with an exasperated sigh.

"We don't set up Christmas trees in this household."

"Tough luck," Emma scoffed. "You weren't around to tell me no."

"Miss Emma," He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "What have I done now?"

"Being a selfish bastard, but that is nothing new, is it?" Emma closed the newspaper and looked up at him to meet his shocked look; eyebrows raised, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, incoherent stammering tumbling over them. "What man is so selfish, so cold, so dead inside that he would take Christmas away from a child? In all honesty, Mr Jones, I had rather you would have stayed away for just a few more days. Grace is beyond excited for Christmas and I don't want you to ruin it for her with your sulking."

Emma rose from her chair, pressing the newspaper into his chest, he took it with a confused scowl, still not having found his voice. "I understand that you are hurting, I truly do," She lowered her voice, speaking more calmly now. "But you will never heal the pieces of your broken heart if you keep yourself locked up, wallowing in self–pity and ruining these holidays for Grace. So maybe you can find it within yourself to at least pretend you are enjoying these days, give her a wrapped gift. Can you at least do that?"

He remained silent, a stubborn scowl plastered on his face. Emma gave him a smile, but she knew her eyes remained cold. "At least think about it. If you decide to join us," she pointed at the wrapped gifts beneath the tree. "Two of them have your name on it. Goodnight," she mumbled, leaving him behind in the Grand Salon.

* * *

 _Christmas, 1815._

Even though it was a Monday, Grace was allowed to sleep in late, yet she came running into the kitchen just as Emma had sat down for a cup of coffee.

"Presents! Presents! Presents!" Grace yelled excitedly, nearly crashing into Ruby, who expertly avoided a catastrophic collision by stepping aside at the right moment.

Grace hauled herself onto the high chair, laying her arms around Emma in a greeting.

"Good morning, Gracie," Emma chuckled, pulling Grace onto her lap. "Happy Christmas, darling."

"Happy Christmas, Emma," Grace smiled, wrapping her arms around Emma's neck. "When can I open my presents?"

"Patience, sweetheart, let's have breakfast first."

"No, now you're definitely overestimating Gracie's patience," Ruby grinned. "I do not think she can wait that long."

"I can!" Grace protested lifting a warning finger before turning to face Emma. "Only if you promise we will open our presents immediately after breakfast."

"Naturally," Emma replied. "Oh Ruby, I do wonder what is in Grace's presents, though," Emma teased, pursing her lips. Ruby flashed her a grin as she put a small basket of sweet treats on the table.

"Stop it, Emma!" Grace pouted, reaching over the table to grab a cinnamon roll from the basket. "You cannot tease me like this, it is unfair."

"Of course, I apologise, how rude of me," Emma chuckled, spreading a bit of marmalade on her scone. Grace gobbled her food just a bit faster than usual, leaving her with the hiccups. Yet it seemed like she was far too ecstatic about her presents to care.

"Can we go now?" Grace asked when Emma was midway her second scone and her cup of coffee still more than half full.

"I am not yet finished, Grace," Emma muttered, her mouth full of food.

"You can finish it upstairs," Grace said impatiently, hopping from her chair and dragging Emma out of the kitchen, only barely giving her time to grab her scone and cup of coffee.

They had just entered the hallway when they saw Mr Jones close the grand entrance door behind him. In his arms, he held a large square package, large enough to almost block his view, on top of that two smaller packages.

"Father?" Grace wondered, tilting her head slightly. "You are home..."

"Yes Grace," he hugged the gifts to his chest as if to shield them from Grace's view, but even hiding them behind his back would not do the trick.

"You have been home for longer," Grace frowned. "You are not carrying your suitcase."

"I got home last night," Mr Jones replied.

"You didn't come say hello," Grace pouted.

"You were asleep Gracie," he explained.

"If those gifts are for me, you are forgiven," Grace smirked, lifting her head to get a better look.

"Two of them, the other one is for Miss Emma."

Emma had just taken a sip of her coffee and his words made her nearly spit out her drink again. She coughed softly and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "What?"

He shrugged, "It's Christmas, is it not?" He walked towards her, lowering his voice to a whisper, so that Grace would not hear him. "Though while you may have been correct last night, I do not forgive you for the way you said it. I do hope that I did not have to clarify that for you."

"But you did."

"Naturally, because you do not learn quickly, I believe that clarification is the more clever option with you."

"I apologise for how I said it, not for what I said, though, as you just mentioned, I never learn quickly, so I cannot promise I will never do it again."

His hum was his only response as he handed the gifts to a passing–by servant, with instructions to place them underneath the tree. And then he left, closing the door behind him as he entered his office.

"Can I open my presents now?" Grace asked softly, looking from her father's office door to Emma.

"You may go upstairs," Emma answered, "But wait until we arrive."

"He's not coming, Emma," Grace whispered, "You should not bother." It was clear that Grace did not simply say this because she really wanted to open her presents at this very moment, but because she simply did not believe her father would join them.

"I can try, can I not? I shall meet you upstairs." Emma smiled, turning to Mr Jones' office. "Milord?" Emma asked, knocking once and then opening the door.

"It is knocking, then waiting for a response," He muttered with an annoyed sigh, though not looking up as he opened a bottle of rum and poured himself a tumbler. "Not knocking and entering."

"You would not have let me in," Emma answered, stepping towards him and laying her hand on his, stopping him from bringing the glass to his lips. "Don't."

"You are bloody right I would not. Especially if you are going to deprive me of my drink," he brushed her hand away from his.

"Just, not today, or at least wait until Grace has gone to bed tonight."

"Do not tell me how to live my life, Miss Emma." Yet he sat down his tumbler on his desk and faced her, looking at her as if he was waiting for an explanation for her rude interruption.

"I would not dare to," Emma gave him a gentle smile. "Though, I may offer a little guidance. Even so, I am still here, so perhaps my presence is not that unwanted?"

"That I have accepted you here does not mean I have to like it. This also applies to you staying, in general."

"Of course," Emma curtsied mockingly. "Now come upstairs with us."

"I do not think so," he mumbled, brushing past her, but she stopped him quickly. Her hands wrapped around his arm. His muscles tensed and Emma realised that had they been in public, scandalised eyes would have glared at them. But she also realised that for Mr Jones, it had probably been the first time in a long while since someone other than Grace had touched him, and maybe that was the exact reason why he did not pull away from her.

"Just for today, spend Christmas with us. It will do you good. You can watch Grace as she happily unwraps the gifts you got her. Have dinner with us and listen to Grace babble about things of which I genuinely do not understand the meaning of. Watch her as she grows tired by the end of the day, but how she will do it with a smile on her face. It may not give you the satisfaction you seek with your drinks, but it will be better. I promise that I will let you get back to wallowing in self–pity as soon as the day is over. But know that whichever presents you got her, your presence will be the best one yet."

"You have a way with words..." He mumbled. "I am fairly certain you insulted me twice."

"Just once," she grinned, slipping her hand down his arm, hooking her arm around his. "Come." She could feel a certain unease at their touch and though he did not ease for a long while, he did not pull his arm away from hers as she guided him up the stairs.

"Father!" Grace looked up happily. She had been sitting cross-legged in front of the tree, intensely focused on the presents, like if she would stare at them long enough she might be able to see what was inside. "Will you be joining us?"

"Apparently I am," He muttered, wincing slightly as Emma dug her fingers into his arm, giving him a warning look. "Yes, darling," he said a little nicer this time while looking away from Emma to his daughter, "I will be joining you."

"Thank you! Can we open our presents now?"

Mr Jones sat down on Grace's right side, glancing at the Christmas tree while shaking his head lightly. Emma chose to ignore it as she sat down on the floor on Grace's left side, reaching underneath the tree to take one of the presents, brushing a few fallen pine needles from the top of it.

Grace opened it with childlike precision; she tried to open it carefully, then got impatient and tore off the wrapping paper, and then opening the box whilst tossing the lid somewhere behind her.

"Oh," Grace's lips parted as she realised what was inside, taking out a small outfit, staring at it as if it was made of gold. "These are for Maximus aren't they?"

"Who is Maximus?" Mr Jones frowned.

"The bear Emma got me for my birthday," Grace answered without looking up, instead looking through all the pieces of bear clothing to see which other outfits there were. "Thank you, Emma," Grace wrapped her arms around Emma's neck, the box still in her lap. "I love them – Oh! I should get Maximus and give him different clothes!"

"Open your other presents first," Emma laughed, taking another present. This one again was met with Grace's precision. A few weeks ago Grace had seen one of Emma's summer gowns, a peach coloured Empire gown, and Grace had fallen head over heels in love with it.

"Emma!" Grace smacked her hand against Emma's arm. "It is your dress!"

Emma brushed her hand over the spot where Grace had just excitedly hit her. For a seven-year-old, she had quite the force. "Actually, it is a smaller version of my dress. But it will not fit you properly yet."

"Why not?" Grace pouted disappointedly, hugging the fabric to her chest.

"Because, it is too cold for such a dress now, thus I had it made just a bit larger, so it will fit you next summer."

Grace nodded at that, "I understand. I do love it a lot, thank you so much."

"You are welcome, Gracie," Emma replied, reaching for a smaller gift underneath the tree and handing it to Mr Jones. He accepted it with a sceptical frown. "I struggled with finding you a gift, Milord," Emma started. That was putting it mildly, she had thought about it for hours, but the truth that she did not know Lord Killian Jones at all became obvious fairly quick. Eventually, she asked Ruby and Mary Margaret for help, Ruby wished her good luck with that. And when Emma asked 'What sort of things does Mr Jones like?' Ruby had bluntly replied 'Sulking and being a mess of a human being.' It did not help her very much.

Mary Margaret offered that he used to like ships, that the bottled ships in his office were put together by him – before he started drinking; these days his hands shook too much to perform the practice.

Emma had noticed it before, but now, when she had denied him his drink and the liquor had not passed his lips for more than twelve hours, it was even more evident.

"It is not much," Emma mumbled, watching him carefully tear the paper off the gift. "But I still hope you like it, though." He almost cracked a smile, looking at the book about ships Emma had purchased for him.

"I do," he answered, looking up at her to give her a small nod. It was as much of a thank you as he was going to give her, but it was more of a thank you than he'd ever given her before. "I uh –" He cleared his throat as he reached out for a small package, about the size of a book, and handed it to her.

"Thank you," Emma said, untying the paper string that kept the wrapping paper in place.

"I am sorry, Miss Emma, I did not know what to get you. But I know you like books and this one has your name on it, quite literally," he smiled a little. "It was in the aisle with all the new books, so I do not think you've read this one before."

"I have not. It is perfect, thank you, Milord," Emma smiled, keeping the book on her lap, her hands folded over it.

"What of me, father?" Grace asked sweetly. Lord Jones gave his daughter the most genuine smile Emma had seen from him and reached for the largest package out of the two remaining ones.

Emma rose to her feet, announcing she would fetch the three of them something to drink, as Grace unwrapped her next gifts. It was a tactical choice, and the look Mr Jones gave her betrayed that he saw right through her.

Emma could have waited until Grace's presents were unwrapped, but that would have given him a window to leave. A window Emma wanted to keep firmly shut. This way, he nearly had no other choice than to stay as Grace unwrapped her gifts, and to share tea with them – and Emma would find other reasons for him to stay; they both knew that.

Upon returning with two cups of tea and a cup of hot chocolate, Mr Jones sat with Grace on the carpet, almost hidden from Emma's view by a large dollhouse.

"Emma! Look what father gave me!" She snatched a doll Mr Jones was holding away from him in an attempt to show Emma all six dolls and a horse at once, as well as the dollhouse itself. Even if it was kind of hard to miss the giant dollhouse in the middle of the room.

The dollhouse shaped like a townhouse had five floors, including an attic and a basement, as well as stables in the back. The exterior was cream coloured, but every room had a theme colour, with matching chairs, sofas, or beds – though Grace had already put the blue bed in the pink room and the pink bed in what seemed, to Emma, to be the dining room.

"It's beautiful," Emma replied, handing her the cup of hot chocolate and giving Mr Jones a cup of tea. He accepted it, though to Emma's surprise, he was no longer scowling. He smiled at Grace as she continued to babble on about the dolls and even helped trying to figure out names for them.

Emma grabbed the book Mr Jones had gifted her and sat down on the sofa. After Grace had finally named all six dolls and the horse, Lord Jones stood up, took his book and sat down on the other sofa.

Grace gave him a wide smile at that and shared a look of gratitude with Emma before devoting her full attention to the dollhouse.

The hours of the day seemed to pass by rather quickly, Emma lost in the book that shared her name, Grace playing with her dolls – during a bathroom break, she had retrieved Maximus from her room and dressed him in one of the new outfits; a sailor this time, and sat him down next to her – and Mr Jones trying his hardest to focus on his book. In the rare times that Emma looked up from her book, she often saw him re–reading an entire page, but he remained in his seat even if it was a clear struggle.

As the evening fell, Emma watched Mr Jones as he rose from the sofa, and stepped towards the fireplace. Grace looked up briefly from her dollhouse, but realised quickly that her father was not leaving and returned to playing with her dolls once more.

Mr Jones took the fire striker from atop the fireplace and knelt down to get the fire going. He sat in silence as he then poked the fire for just a little longer than necessary. The flames quickly growing.

"Milord?" Emma whispered. He sighed and nodded, rising to his feet and taking back his position on the couch. His face was pale, his eyes dull, but the way he kept them firmly fixed onto the pages of his book made Emma hopeful that he might make it through the day without drinking.

Emma averted her eyes back to her own book and started reading once again.

It was quite a serene moment; the soft crackling of the fire, the pages of Mr Jones' book being turned, the pages of her own book, Grace's soft murmuring as she gave her dolls voices. A moment that was interrupted too soon, as Ruby announced dinner was ready to be served in the dining room.

There was a hint of panic in Lord Jones' eyes as he met Emma's eyes, but she gave him an encouraging nod, following Grace with her eyes as the girl rose to her feet and grabbed hold of her father's hand. "Will you sit next to me?"

"Of course, darling," he replied, the panic already buried, squeezing his daughter's hand just slightly as they walked together to the dining room. The table was set for three people and before Emma could even begin to object, Grace had already convinced her to dine with them.

"I cannot remember the name of the blonde doll," Grace muttered as dinner was just served, poking into the meat on her plate. "She is very pretty, but I always forget what I named her."

"If she is so pretty, maybe you should name her Emma," Mr Jones retorted, looking at Emma with an empty smile, his head slightly tilted. Emma coughed harshly as she choked on her potato, dropping her cutlery in the process as well. She frowned at him, the empty smile made it quite hard to figure out if he was mocking her or if there was a genuine compliment in there.

"The doll has got blue eyes, father," Grace explained with her _you silly goose_ voice. "Emma has green eyes."

"Yes," Mr Jones answered, the smile slowly fading. "Of course, darling," he spoke softly, never taking his eyes away from Emma. It became clear to her that he was indeed mocking her; payback for taking away his liquor and forcing him to spend an entire day with them.

Emma stood up without another word, picking new cutlery from the cabinet, and sitting down on her chair again. Mr Jones had looked away from her by now; finishing his dinner quietly. Again, she noticed the shaking in his hands as he handled his knife; his knuckles whitened due to his firm grip on the handle, but he could not stop the shaking, no matter how hard he tried.

Emma knew what caused the shaking and there was a good chance he knew as well.

Ruby had filled up their glasses with red wine, but taken the bottle with her downstairs again to keep it cooled. His glass now stood empty and it had been for a while. She wished she could do something for him, but the only thing she could think of was offering him her glass – and for having the thought alone, she berated herself.

They had finished their dinner in silence – even Grace was silent; a clear sign that she was tired. Lord Jones had whispered a silent good night, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, when Grace bid him goodnight.

When Emma returned, he still sat in his chair in the dining hall, absent-mindedly ticking his ticking against the stem of his empty wine glass. None of the plates had been touched, if Ruby had come to check up on them at all, she had either been sent away or left by her own choice.

"Milord?" Emma whispered, breaking the silence that he'd sat in since Emma left to put Grace to bed.

"I cannot do it," he mumbled, standing up from his chair, clenching his shaking hands next to his body. "You said until Grace went to bed, may I go?"

"I will not stop you," Emma answered, taking a step aside. He walked past her in a slow, unsteady pace. "She told me she was grateful for me," Emma spoke up before he could open the door. He did not turn around to look at her, but his hand on the doorknob, yet leaving the door closed, indicated he was listening. "She was grateful that I was able to convince you to stay with us, to have dinner with us. She is grateful that even though you only barely tolerate my presence, you do listen to me."

"She said that?"

"Not with those exact words," Emma chuckled softly. "But she was rather happy that you were able to spend time with her."

"Yes," he mumbled, swallowing thickly. "Anything else?"

Emma hesitated, biting her lip before shaking her head. "No, good night, Milord."

He hummed in response, opening the door and closing it behind him with a soft thud. Emma sighed deeply, laying her hand on her stomach. Her heart raced in her chest, she knew exactly where he would go now, and it hurt her that not even using his daughter would stop him now.

She could feel the unrest all day, surely Grace must have felt it as well, children tend to have a sixth sense for those things. But she happily ignored it, for her father finally spent time with her.

His unrest was visible in his mannerisms as well, getting up just a few too many times to get a glass of water, stared blankly at his page for a bit too long. His hands that shook with every action.

While there was an obvious change in his behaviour, compared to a month ago, he had still not quite yet reached a turning point.

Emma could only hope he would get there fast, for when Grace explained her reasoning for not giving her father the scarf, her heart shattered. But Grace made Emma promise not to tell, and so she wouldn't.

 _"Gracie?" Emma questioned, tucking Grace in. "Why have you not given your father the scarf you made?'_

 _"I do not think father will like it very much," she admitted._

 _"Surely you must know that is not true."_

 _"I don't, Emma," Grace said firmly, her voice breaking just a bit. "I am truly scared he will throw it away because it's not good enough. Just, don't tell him about the scarf, all right?"_

 _"All right," Emma promised, kissing her forehead softly. "I won't."_

* * *

 **Notes:**

I have a few notes for you;

1) I am very sorry for the delay in this chapter, I was supposed to publish this after I got back from Versailles, but unfortunately my brother stole my usb stick that contained all of my writing. And by that I mean everything I every wrote. It was a pretty harsh setback, and so I did not want to write. But I think I made up for this by giving you an extra long chapter, and I hope you will forgive me for the wait.

2) I was not going to publish this chapter until tomorrow, but I received an extremely negative review that pointed out all the flaws in this story, how historically inaccurate this is, that Killian would never let Emma talk to him like that in that time period, etc etc etc. While they were sort of correct, in a way, this is indeed an incredibly historically inaccurate fic, it was the way they decided to inform me of the flaws in this fic that really irked me, and the reason I am already posting this is very simple: spite.  
I understand that I cannot please everyone, and not everyone will enjoy this sort of fics, but to come to my askbox and anonymously tell me how much my fic sucks, is really not the way to go, to be honest.

3) I am extremely grateful for everyone who _is_ willing to overlook those little facts, and enjoy my fic nevertheless, as well as give me positive reviews.

4) If you did like this chapter, consider leaving a review?

5) If you didn't; I am open for constructive criticism. (Just don't blatantly tell me that my fic is a joke.)


	7. Seven

_**Notes:**_

 _ **I know I usually post my notes after the chapter, but before all, I wanted to thank every single one of you for the insane response to my last chapter and for having my back against negative reviews/people. It means so much to me.**_

 _ **For a second note, today is my birthday, so this is my gift for you, hope you like it!**_

* * *

 _Early February, 1816._

Grace sat on the stairs facing the grand entrance door, her head leaning on her hands, eyes slowly falling shut. Her cream coloured sleeping gown had a stain on it from where she had dropped her cup of milk, tired hands having lost their grip on the nearly empty mug – though it had been enough to leave a stain.

It had been like this for the last two weeks. Even if their evening ritual still consisted of Grace dressing herself for bed and Emma preparing a cup of milk, Grace now sat on the lowest steps of the staircase, staring at the front door while very slowly drinking her milk. By the time she had just about finished it, it was already cold. She hoped that if she stalled just long enough, she would be able to watch her father walk through the front door.

But that was not the case. It had not been for weeks.

Emma had gently reminded herself not to have any expectations after Christmas, remembering that even if Mr Jones had taken a small step forward on Grace's birthday, he had taken multiple steps back afterwards.

Christmas proved to be no different – and even if she tried not to have expectations, she ended up disappointed. Later that night he had indulged in the rum she had taken away from him at first; unsurprisingly, that is also how he spent the week after that.

Shortly after New Year, Mr Jones had left the mansion on yet another business travel, the only clue as to how long he would be gone was that he had packed more than half of his wardrobe.

So once the two weeks were up, Grace started asking if there had been letters in the mail, watching the front door just a bit more than usual – which in turn became sitting at the bottom of the staircase waiting.

Emma let her, not caring that Grace stalled well past her bedtime. Though she had to admit that worry crept up on her as well. Every night, Emma reminded herself of the time Ruby told her that he had been gone four months before returning.

And yet she found herself at the docks on her free Tuesday, having asked Thomas to chaperone her. But there was no news of sunken ships; not in the papers, not at the docks. Without news, Emma returned home around sunset. Her heart sank into her shoes when she saw Grace's delighted expression falter.

Emma had sat down next to her and stared at the door too, but it did not open anymore.

And that's how it had been for the last few days, waiting and staring until Grace became too tired to even hold a cup of milk, leaving Emma to fetch a new gown.

Emma returned from the laundry room just a moment later and handed Grace a clean sleeping gown, telling her to get changed so she could wash out the milk stain.

And then the front door opened.

Grace stepped down the stairs, watching the door for a suspenseful moment as it slowly creaked open.

Mr Jones almost swayed inside, taking small, unsteady steps as if he was letting the outside wind push him inside.

But his drunken state was not quite what grabbed Emma's attention first.

It was the blood dripping from his nose, the corner of his mouth, and the gash above his swollen eye.

His torn jacket barely hung over his shoulder anymore, a scrap of the brown fabric dragged behind him and got caught between the door as he pushed the door closed with a loud thud. He tugged at the fabric only to tear it further until it completely ripped off. The action was followed by a series of cuss words.

"Grace, go to bed," Emma urged, turning the girl around by the shoulders, facing her away from her father. It was the sound of Emma's voice that made Mr Jones realise that he was not alone in the foyer. He looked up, squinting through a beat up eye to get a better look as to who was in the foyer with him.

"But Emma –" Grace protested softly.

"Now!" Emma said sternly without looking back at her. Ruby came out of the kitchen, rushing towards them. She must have heard the front door close, realising that it must have been him, finally returning home.

Emma stepped forward, reaching out for him in an attempt to guide him to the kitchen.

"I do not need assistance!" Mr Jones slurred, pushing Emma's arms away while blood continued dripping on his white shirt.

"Yes, Killian, you do," Ruby hissed, trying to reach for him, but he pulled back quickly. "You know what, I shall put Grace to bed, you have more patience for this," Ruby muttered, patting Emma on the shoulder before walking up the stairs, Grace reluctantly by her side.

"Please Sir, let me help you," Emma whispered, reaching out for him again. This time he let her take his arm, following her like a stubborn child towards the kitchen. His step was slow, it made her impatient, still, she pushed away the desire to actually drag him into the kitchen. She sat him down on a chair and pumped some water in a bowl. "What happened?" She asked as she took a clean cloth from the cupboard.

"None of your business," He mumbled, leaning his forearms on the table, wincing slightly. He stared stubbornly at the candle on the table before him, the flame fanned lightly as she walked by it before setting the bowl down.

"Fine," Emma shrugged, drenching the cloth in the water before bringing it to his forehead.

"It's cold," He grumbled.

"Might cool your temper." Emma smiled indifferently. "Take off your clothes," She demanded, cleaning the piece of cloth in the bowl.

"You first, darling."

"Excuse me?" Emma set her hands flat on the table and took a deep breath to calm herself before looking at him. He appeared a little confused as though just realising that what he said was highly inappropriate. "You will take off those bloodstained clothes so that we might be able to get the stains out before it is too late. You will let me help fix you up so that your sodding wound won't get infected and you will do so without another damn word. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes," he muttered, getting up on shaky legs to take off his trousers, vest and shirt.

"Impressive," Ruby chuckled behind her. "I'd ask if you need help, but I'd say you can handle him pretty well."

"If you could put the clothes in cold water, that would be great," Emma answered calmly, cleaning up the wound on Mr Jones' forehead further. Ruby nodded, taking the clothes as Lord Jones laid them on the table.

"Does he need stitches?"

Emma took the candle and lifted it to his face to get a better look. "No, it looks superficial. His eye is going to have quite the bruise for a few days, perhaps some snow might reduce the swelling."

"It's fine," Mr Jones whispered.

"Did I not order you to remain silent?" Emma hissed.

"Last I checked, you were my servant, not vice versa."

"All right," Emma bit her lip and sat down in front of him, making sure she had his full attention. "Here's the thing, _Sir_. Grace sat on that staircase well beyond her bedtime every day, waiting until you returned home. The first thing she sees when you stepped through that door was your face bruised and battered, a gushing wound across your forehead, blood all over your clothes, and drunk off your arse again. She worries for you enough as it is, every night she asks me when you return, she's started praying for your safety." He cringed, his every muscle in his body fighting the tears that started welling up in his eyes.

"So tomorrow she will look at you, your eye forced shut, dried blood everywhere, bruises all over, quite frankly looking disgusting and probably terrifying to a seven-year-old, that's the stuff of her nightmares, so if there is anything I can do to at least try and ease that sight for her a little, I will do my very best for her. Because believe me, I am not doing this for you, I would much rather let your stubborn arse figure it out on your own, because you need to face the consequences of your actions one day.

But I can't let that day be tomorrow, because Grace has been waiting for you to return for more than four weeks, hoping for your safe return, praying that you would return, so that she would not end up an orphan. I will let you deal with your own stupidity another day, but right now, you will let me get you some snow, to lay on that eye of yours, and you will not say another word, have I made myself clear enough this time?"

Somewhere along her angry monologue, tears had started flowing over his cheeks, but she was too angry to stop talking; weeks, even months of frustration and anger finally came tumbling over her lips. She did not care if she hurt his feelings, he apparently did not seem to care either.

Mr Jones barely managed a nod before she got up and walked outside with a clean cloth in a clenched fist.

Sitting on her knees in the cold snow was awfully uncomfortable, but she could use the cooling down. Her own tears escaped her eyes as she scooped up some snow in her bare hands and folded it in the cloth.

"Emma?" Grace's voice startled her. Emma quickly wiped away her tears on her sleeve and looked up.

"Gracie, why are you not in bed?" She asked softly.

"I am scared. Is father all right?"

"Yes, sweetheart, please go back upstairs."

"Can I see him?"

"Tomorrow," Emma promised and got up, urging Grace back inside.

"Why not now?"

"He does not look too well, just go to bed, darling."

"It's all right, I can do it, you don't have to protect me, I saw the blood."

Emma sighed deeply before nodding once, "All right."

Grace walked behind her into the kitchen, stopping dead in her tracks as she saw her father. Ruby had continued to clean the wound, though blood still dripped from the wound. He did not appear as if he had stopped crying after she left, if anything he had cried even more.

Grace stood motionless by the door and for a moment Emma thought she was going to make a run for it. But she walked in carefully as if approaching a wounded animal.

"Grace," Mr Jones muttered hoarsely, reaching out for her with his right arm. Grace stepped into his embrace without hesitation. "I am sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I am so sorry." He winced as he wrapped his left arm around his daughter; Emma made a mental note to take a better look at that later. "I'm sorry," He mumbled again.

Grace smiled, burying her face in his neck. "Do not be sorry, you are all right, that is what matters."

"I have hurt you, over and over again, you cannot forgive me this easily," he laughed painfully through his tears. "I do not deserve it."

"You are my father," Grace shrugged as if that explained it all.

"Exactly, I should be better at it."

"It is alright, papa, we all have things to learn, and we cannot be good at everything just like that without failing a few times first." Mr Jones chuckled softly, wincing as he did, and brushed his fingers over his daughter's cheek.

"When did you get so wise?"

"Emma taught me," Grace smiled proudly and looked up at her. Emma gave a small smile in return.

"Of course she did," He whispered weakly. "Go to bed, darling, we will talk in the morning."

"I – I have something for you," Grace started carefully, slowly stepping away from his embrace. "I will be right back," she promised. "Don't go anywhere."

"No, Grace, I won't," Mr Jones vowed, watching his daughter as she stepped out of the kitchen.

"I need more snow," Emma mumbled, the snow having soaked the cloth as it melted, was now dripping on the floor.

When she returned Ruby was looking at his left arm, she noticed it too then. "What do you think?" She asked Emma as she walked in.

"I don't know, I haven't seen it yet," Emma answered, handing Mr Jones the snow wrapped in the cloth.

The kitchen door opened, drawing their attention. Grace stepped inside, carrying a gift wrapped in brown wrapping paper and tied together with twine. One shared look and Emma knew exactly which gift it was. Grace looked at her nervously, as if awaiting a sign, even permission, Emma nodded encouragingly.

"For you," Grace whispered shyly, setting the package down before him.

"What is this?" Mr Jones laid the towel-wrapped snow aside to run his fingers over the present in front of him.

"You have to open it, father," She laughed softly, nudging at it. Emma watched carefully as his bruised fingers untied the twine she had tied into a bow nearly two months ago. Thought his hands were unsteady, he tore away the paper she had wrapped around it with care.

He took the knitted scarf away from the paper and held it up as high as his aching arm would allow. Emma saw the little imperfections that made the scarf so unique. Where Grace's stitch became just a bit too tight, or where she'd dropped a stitch, or even added a stitch too many. But Lord Jones looked at it as if it was an art piece created by the greatest artist. "Did you make this?"

"Yes, father," Grace replied. "Do you uh – Do you like it?"

"It is perfect, Gracie."

"It is not perfect," Grace reached out to point at one of the scarf's flaws. "See?"

"I see," Mr Jones nodded. "I see that this is a thing you have put a lot of time and effort in it, I see that this is a thing that no one else has, I see that I am so proud of you – I also see that miss Emma is tearing up." He looked up at her with a crooked grin. Emma scowled at him for it, quickly wiping away the tear that rolled over her cheek. "I am very grateful, Gracie. I cannot wait to wear it."

"You will wear it?" Grace marvelled, her head titled slightly.

"Of course I will, what did you think I would do with it?" Grace shook her head and smiled instead. "Good," he kissed her forehead. "Go to bed now, darling. I will be here in the morning."

"Promise?"

"I promise," He answered. Grace nodded and bid goodnight to everyone in the room without another objection, thanking Emma for allowing to see her father before returning back to her room.

As his daughter left the room, Mr Jones reached for the melting snow on the table, holding a dripping cloth to his eye. "May I speak yet?" He asked softly.

"Hmm," Emma hummed, pouring out the bowl of water in the sink.

"Thank you," Mr Jones said. Emma nearly dropped the bowl as her eyebrows almost shot up to her hairline. This had to be the first time she'd ever heard those words come from his mouth. But as much as she was surprised, she was still angry, so all she mustered was another hum. "I would like you to look at me when I speak to you."

"I would like a lot of things, but we can't all have what we want, now can we?" Emma replied stubbornly, but turned around anyway with a scowl on her face and her arms crossed in front of her chest as she leant against the sink.

He ignored her statement though it was obviously not easy for him. "I understand that I have hurt Grace. And you – all of you, likely." He cleared his throat. "I know I have a problem, but I do not know if I am strong enough to solve it." He sighed, staring at the glass of water before him.

"All you need to do is ask for help," Emma offered.

"I have never been quite good at that," he mumbled.

"Don't I know it," She chuckled lowly.

"This is me asking, I cannot keep hurting Grace, or any of you."

"We'd love to help, Killian," Ruby smiled, rubbing his back gently. "In fact, let us start right now. I am taking away every bottle of rum you have in your possession and it will be locked in a cabin and only I have the key."

"Sounds good, no more temptations," Emma smiled. Ruby nodded and left the kitchen immediately. Emma sat down in front of him, keeping her gaze fixed on him. "And if you need to talk, Milord, please do. I understand that I would not be your first choice, but I am here if you need me. If anything, you saw how eager Ruby was to help you, I am certain she would love to talk with you as well."

"It will not be easy..."

"Of course not, but that is what we are here for. You need to pick up a pastime, to keep your mind occupied."

"Such as?"

"Anything you like, walking, swimming, horseback riding."

"Alone?"

"If you like, if not, I am certain Grace would love to accompany you."

"I am sure Grace would like it if you joined us." His eyebrows raised just slightly, as if he was hoping she would join them in such activities.

"She would, but perhaps you need to spend some time with your daughter now," Emma smiled, reaching out for the cloth he still had against his eye. The snow had almost melted away completely and dripped down his arm, but he did not seem to care. Surely his eye would still be bruised in the morning, but not as bad as it could have been. "After you get better, that is..." she mumbled, cleaning a cloth.

"I have been drunk before Miss Emma, I know what the day after drinking looks like, I'll manage."

"It's not that I am worried about. You have been drinking for quite a while, you will go through severe detoxification, it may even leave you feverish."

"Wonderful," he sighed deeply.

"It should not last too long," Emma smiled, stepping away from him. "Hopefully."

* * *

The first symptoms started showing way before the first twelve hours: shaking hands, sweating, more irritable than usual. It was much like that Christmas Day when she had denied him his liquor.

Twelve hours after that he admitted to having a hallucination about her, but refused to tell her what he had seen. The shame in his eyes made her sympathetic and she decided not to push for it but the hallucinations stopped after two days, thankfully. But vomiting and insomnia had taken its place.

He looked at her with tired, red eyes as she fed him. His hands shook too heavily to hold the spoon without spilling boiling hot soup over himself. Detoxification took a visible toll on him; his eyes were red, his skin pale, he sweated all night, the feverish reactions kept him from sleeping. And of course the vomiting.

It was awful to see, but he did not make any attempt at persuading them to give his alcohol back. He pushed through, for Grace.

Grace had insisted that Emma stopped being her nanny and acted as her father's nanny for as long as he needed it.

And so Emma tended to him like she did Grace. She kept an eye on him, stayed with him for dinner, helped him get dressed – if he wanted to at all; mostly he just wanted to stay in bed.

Last night she read to him until he'd fallen asleep.

Insomnia had taken over, but instead of saying anything, he stared into the fire like the stubborn man he was with the intent of waiting for sleep to come.

Emma had come inside a little after midnight, making sure the fire was still burning, and found him staring at an almost burnt out fire. He barely looked up at her when she touched his shoulder, asking for his attention.

Emma sat down next to his bed, taking the book that sat on his nightstand. "Shall I read to you?" He'd scoffed loudly. "Do not mock me, Sir. It works for Grace when she can't sleep."

"Fine," he sighed.

Emma started reading from where his bookmark was, no idea what the book was about, but he was not too far into the story, so it wasn't that hard for her to understand what exactly she was reading.

She read until _she_ nearly fell asleep, not realising that Mr Jones had long fallen asleep already. Emma tucked the bookmark back into the place where she first opened the book, just in case he would not remember her having read to him, and set it back onto his nightstand.

She tucked him in just a little bit more and brushed his hair from his face – just like she did with Grace, a motion she had not realised she was doing until it was too late, but he was too fast asleep to notice. "Good night," she whispered, adding a small log to the fireplace before leaving his room.

When she entered his room again in the morning, he was already awake, sitting on his bed in front of the fire. One curtain was opened, a clear sign that he had left his bed already.

"Have you slept well, milord?" Emma asked, setting down the tray that contained his breakfast – a slice of bread an a bit of soup – onto the table.

"Yes," he replied softly.

"I brought breakfast." Mr Jones nodded, gesturing for her to bring it towards him as he positioned himself with his back against the wall. Emma sat the tray down in his lap and walked away from him again.

"Where are you going?" He questioned.

Emma turned to face him, frowning. "You do not require my assistance, so I thought –"

"Sit," he said firmly, looking at the bed. Emma nodded, sitting next to him as ordered, her hands folded in her lap. Her gaze drifted to his hands, he tore off a piece of bread with nearly steady hands, progress clearly visible.

His hair fell over his forehead, it looked a bit like an untamed mess, each strand stuck out in a different direction. It was the first time she noticed just how long his hair had gotten, and while she had to admit it was rather attractive, the unruly mess atop his head would not be appropriate for a man of his status once he would go outside again.

He seemed to notice the increase in length as well, for he seemed to be engaged in an ongoing battle with a lock of hair that constantly fell before his eyes; he blew the lock of hair away from his eyes and sighed with annoyance as it fell right back where it was before.

"You need a haircut," Emma said with a grin. Mr Jones smiled and leant over to the side of the bed – for a moment, Emma thought he was going to vomit again – but instead, he reached for the drawer on his nightstand and took out a pair of scissors, then handed it to Emma. "You cannot be serious?" Emma laughed, but took the scissors anyway, its metal cold in her fingers.

"What's the worst that could happen, darling?" He smirked. "I believe you know how scissors work well enough to not cut off my ear?"

"I could cut off too much, just visit the barber when you are feeling better," Emma brushed his ridiculous suggestion off and laid the scissors on the nightstand.

"Miss Charlotte cut my hair once," he mumbled, tearing off a piece of the bread.

"Do you miss her?" Emma inquired, not daring to look at him.

She could hear him laugh softly, "Are you asking me if I regret hiring you?"

"No," Emma replied stubbornly, still not looking at him.

"Because I don't –" Now she looked up at him, meeting his eyes with a confused look. "– You are wonderful with Grace. Perhaps even better so than Miss Charlotte. And you have done more for me than I deserve."

"That is not –"

"It is," He interrupted her. "I know I have made a fair amount of mistakes, not only with you, but with Grace and Ruby, with everyone. But you have made it so that I am given another chance."

"I didn't do anything, you are the perseverant one."

"My perseverance would not matter if you had not persuaded me to change my behaviour." He looked at her with an amused smile, his tired eyes almost brightening.

"How do you feel?" Emma asked.

"I've felt better, but I have also felt much worse," he replied, looking at something behind her. "It is snowing again."

"It has been snowing for a few days now."

"Perhaps you should go outside with Grace, I have claimed enough of your time."

"Thank you, milord," Emma rose to her feet, though he had eaten more than the days before, his plate was still not empty. "Shall I take the tray downstairs?"

"No, thank you. Dismissed."

"Yes, milord."

"Do you think there will be a Frost Fair this year?" Grace asked, brushing some snow aside to find a couple of twigs.

"I do not think so," Emma answered, shaping the face of the snowman a little more. "I do not think Jack Frost is making is cold enough for the Thames to freeze over again," she teased. Of course Grace did not believe in things such as Jack Frost, Santa Clause or the Easter Hare, but it was still amusing to see her responses.

"Emma," Grace sighed, rolled her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, a characteristic that was clearly stolen from Ruby; it did not fit Grace quite as well, but it was amusing to see nonetheless. Suddenly Grace giggled, bringing a gloved hand to hide her sudden burst of laughter. "Oh, last year –" she took a moment to quiet herself, but she kept laughing as she continued talking, "– Last year there was a man, he was so very angry at Jack Frost that he had a notice made ordering Jack to quit the cold!"

"I remember that!" Emma exclaimed with a chuckle. The man had the notice printed on the ice and then hung it in a public place, for all to see. "How did it go exactly?" Emma frowned, she had read the notice multiple times to memorise it so she could tell the other servants about it. " _Whereas you Jack Frost have by force and violence taken possession of the River Thames I hereby give you warning to quit immediately_ ," She quoted dramatically as the words came back to her.

"Yes!" Grace laughed.

"Oh he must've been so very dedicated, I know that the cost of having something printed on the ice was quite high."

"It was very cold, I do not blame the man," Mr Jones' voice suddenly sounded behind them. Both girls looked up at him, he stood a few feet away from him, with his coat open and his hands in the pockets of his trousers. The scarf Grace had given him tied around his neck. Emma had never seen him so serene and composed before. "In fact, I would have done the same thing."

"I am surprised it was not actually you who had the notice printed," Emma teased.

He chuckled softly, scratching behind his ear before gesturing to the snowman, "May I join you?"

"Of course," Emma smiled.

"So no Frost Fair, then?" Grace asked as if their conversation had never been interrupted in the first place.

Emma shook her head, watching Grace's smile fade. "At least you had last year," she offered.

"We did not go for long," Grace replied. "I slipped on the ice and fell on my bum."

"You slipped?" Emma frowned, a vague memory coming back to her.

"Yes. Miss Charlotte was speaking to a man – you remember, father? The man she married – and I saw the elephant, so I ran to see it, but I slipped," Grace sighed sadly. "I didn't even see the elephant that well."

 _Emma felt the push against her gown, almost pushing her feet from underneath her. When she turned to complain, she saw the girl sit on the ice; a confused frown on her face, as if her mind had not quite caught up with the fact that she had just slipped and fell. Finally she looked up, staring at Emma with wide, watery eyes, almost tearing up._

 _"Are you all right?" Emma questioned, kneeling down to help the girl back on her feet. The girl swallowed thickly as if swallowing all her tears and pain away and then nodded._

 _"I just wanted to see the elephant, sorry," the girl replied silently, her voice betrayed she was still hurting, but she ignored it, standing tiptoe to look over Emma's shoulder._

 _"It is quite all right, worry not. Where is your guardian?"_

 _"Miss Charlotte is by the souvenir stall," She answered absently. "Has the elephant gone yet?"_

 _"Not quite, he is almost here, however, would you like to stand with us while you wait for your guardian?" Emma pointed at the two children standing next to her, though they had not turned around, instead leant as far as the barricading would allow to see the elephant more clearly. The girl looked at them and then at Emma, contemplating._

 _"No," She finally muttered, staring at the ice beneath her feet. "I should probably get back," she leant closer, lowering her voice to a conspiring whisper. "My bum hurts a lot."_

 _Emma stifled a giggle, "I am sorry to hear that – though I think someone is looking for you," she pointed at an auburn-haired woman, scanning the crowd with worried eyes. Grace waved at her briefly – the woman letting out a sigh of relief – before she turned back to face Emma._

 _"Thank you for helping me," the girl smiled, extending her hand. It appeared to be a mannerism that did not quite belong to her. Perhaps her father was a businessman and she had copied him._

 _"You are most welcome," Emma smiled, shaking the girl's hand. "Goodbye."_

"Well, I offered to let you step in front of me," Emma shrugged.

"What?" Both Mr Jones and Grace uttered.

"So this is quite a funny tale, last year I was standing in the crowd, watching the elephant cross the ice, when a girl bumped into me. She had just fallen down but all she cared about was seeing the elephant -"

"Emma! It was you! You helped me!" Grace exclaimed, tugging at Emma's cloak in excitement.

"Do tell me, exactly why are you drawn to my daughter?" He flashed her a teasing grin. Emma scowled at him, reached down to take a bit of snow in her hands, forming it Into a ball, then throwing it at him.

Grace's eyes widened in surprise before bursting out in a fit of giggles.

Mr Jones stared at her with an open mouth, a long moment passed before he made any movement at all, the part of the snow she had thrown at him still clinging to his coat. The moment was terrifying on one hand, and on the other all Emma wanted to do was giggle along with Grace and toss another snowball his way.

Finally, he pursed his lips, nodding slightly, and reaching down to grab a handful of snow.

Grace caught up quicker than Emma did, grabbing Emma's hand and tugging her along. "Run, Emma!"

They hid behind the tree that held Grace's swing, the tree was thick enough to hid the both of them, but with Grace giggling loudly they would certainly be found quickly. Emma brought her finger to her mouth, silencing Grace – only barely.

"Do you hear anything?" Emma frowned as she heard nothing at all, no snow crunching underneath footsteps. "Stay here." Grace nodded, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

Emma slowly leant around the tree, flinching when Mr Jones' face was only inches away from hers. "Boo," He grinned.

"You scared me," Emma laughed, sighing deeply.

"You threw snow at my face!" He accused her.

"I did no such thing!"

Mr Jones took an abrupt step closer as snow suddenly flew around her, "I think my daughter just hit me in the head with a snowball," he mumbled, turning around – that's when Emma noticed the snow in his hair, and let out a small snort – to see Grace look at him with a big mischievous grin. "It would appear the women in my household have turned against me."

"That is unfortunate," Emma replied as she bent down to grab some more snow, shaping it into a ball and tossing it against him.

"Very well, if that is how it is," He said, brushing the snow off his coat. Though his face was pale, his cheeks were burning red, the way he crept up on them with was an unspoken promise that we would play along. "Then I shall simply have to fight back, no?"

Grace squealed as she ran away from his attack the afternoon falling away to laughter and fun that Emma had not seen in a long time.


	8. Eight

_Mid–March, 1816._

As the weather slowly became warmer, the snow disappeared, and the small buds started to grow back on the trees, Emma found herself walking through the long hallway that looked out over the garden, keeping a shawl wrapped around herself; while behind the glass it was nicely warm, the outside air was still cold. Her nose and the tips of her ears were still red from having walked Grace to her usual ballet class, so the gentle warmth of the sun that fell through the large windows was a pleasant welcome on her cold skin.

In the distance, she saw David work his way through the garden, taking care to keep away from Milah's gravestone. She watched him suddenly stand up straight, leaning casually on his rake and put on a wide smile. Emma hid her grin behind her hand as she suddenly saw the reason behind his sudden change in posture: Mary Margaret stepped out on the lawn, carrying a steaming cup.

He reached out for the cup and brought it to his lips; though it was hard to see from where Emma was standing, she saw the admiration never left his eyes. David appeared to thank her, leaning closer towards her and then gently kissed her cheek.

Mary Margaret nodded and walked away from him, her usually pale cheeks had entirely coloured crimson. Emma would have guessed her cheeks could not gain any more colour, but was utterly proven wrong when Mary Margaret noticed her and realised Emma had seen the whole thing.

From her spot in the middle of the hallway, Emma watched Mary Margaret walk inside, her features showed she was clearly thinking of something to say before Emma could.

But Emma simply could not help herself. "Why do you never bring me a cup of coffee?" She wondered, bringing her finger to her pursed lips.

"It was tea," Mary Margaret muttered. "And you never bring me tea whenever you bring Mr Jones tea."

"Ah, but that is because Lord Jones is my employer and you are not," Emma retorted with a grin.

"Where is he, anyhow? I have not seen him all day," Mary Margaret questioned in an attempt to not so subtly change the subject, but Emma decided to humour her.

"I believe he is in his office," Emma replied, wrapping her shawl a bit tighter around herself. "He is not having the best day today."

"Are you certain it is wise to leave him alone, then?"

Emma smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Perhaps you ought to have a little more faith in him. He has done wonderfully well these last few weeks."

"I realise that, and I do have faith, but maybe he does not _want_ to be left alone but is too afraid to ask? Please go see if he requires anything?"

"Why must I be the one to do so?" Emma protested with a pout. Mary Margaret gave her a knowing look. They had talked about it before. They had spent an entire evening by the fire in the servant's area, Mary Margaret had baked cookies, Ruby had bought chocolates, and Emma had made cake. Multiple glasses of wine had been consumed that night and the conversation had been a light one, gossips and giggles at most.

That was until Mr Jones stepped in the room well past midnight, announcing that he was retiring to his room. He looked somewhat bewildered, as if even he could not believe that he had actually come to say goodnight. But Emma had been the first to return his goodnight wishes, and it made his lips curve into a small, barely–there smile. He had nodded once, scratching behind his ear and then left the room without saying a word.

Waiting until they heard his footsteps on the grand staircase, they had burst into confused laughter.

Ruby had brought the conversation back to one they had had a month or so earlier. _He likes you, ever since you got here, you have been nothing but a good influence on him._ Emma did not want to have the conversation, but Mary Margaret chimed in quickly, nodding furiously. _It's true, he seems so much happier._ Emma decided to let the women babble, it appeared to make them happy, and who was she to deny their happiness.

Perhaps they had been right, it was partly her doing that Mr Jones was slowly becoming the man he once was, but the conversation scared her in a way. What would have become of him, had she not intervened? Would anyone else have persuaded him to change his attitude? What if he had simply sent her away, deciding that no one should have been allowed to talk to him the way Emma had, and he continued his way of life? Maybe one day he decided that he did not want to come home again. Or maybe he was not able to. What of Gracie? What would have happened to her.

She had excused herself and retired for the night. Once alone in her room, she had let the tears that she had fiercely fought and held back, to the point where her throat felt like it was being squeezed shut, roll over her cheeks.

It had been a long night of endless thoughts and countless tears.

"All right," Emma agreed with a soft sigh.

Mary Margaret beamed as she pulled her friend into a hug. "Good luck."

"Thank you," Emma muttered under her breath. It wasn't so much that Mr Jones was still unpleasant company, in fact, he often had quite the tales to tell. He had seen more places than Emma could ever dream to see of and of each place he could tell at least ten stories. Emma imagined she'd barely heard the beginning of it, but she found herself looking forward to hearing more.

The first time he proposed to tell her a story completely caught her by surprise. She had just put Grace to bed and ended up in the library looking for yet another book upon having finished her nth book earlier that day. She remembered groaning softly at the lack of interesting reading material, her fingers ghosting over the spines of the books.

"Does my library not satisfy you?" His voice that suddenly sounded behind her had made her flinch.

"It does, Milord. But I cannot quite find a book to my liking this time. While I have not even read half the books in this library, I _have_ read all the stories about travelling."

"If it is travelling stories you desire, I've got plenty to tell," He had chuckled softly. She'd searched his features for mockery, but only found a genuine offer in his words.

She loved listening to him, she would sit before the fire on the fluffy rug, hanging on his lips as he told his tales from his spot on the sofa. He lowered his voice at the right moment, built the suspense, or described the most wonderful sceneries. He never broke eye contact, leaving her unable to look away from him. She caught herself smiling up at him more than once, finding that when he talked about the places he had seen, he had her complete and unconditional attention. And it was in those moments that she found it easier to look at him without feeling shy about it.

The problem was that Emma was slowly starting to learn when to stop pushing him forward and let him take the steps necessary at his own pace. Emma wasn't quite certain if this was a day she could push him, and quite frankly she was in no real hurry to find out.

She found him sitting in his office, staring blankly in front of him, not even looking up when she walked in unannounced – or give his usual knock first then wait for a response lecture. He looked tired and quite messy with his hair uncombed and a coffee stain on his vest.

"Milord?" She tried softly as she stepped inside the room, letting the door fall shut behind her. But her attempts were to no avail; he did not even acknowledge her. "Sir?" Standing in front of him felt like he was staring straight through her. Surely he must have seen her now, but he still did not move. She stood next to him now, kneeling down at his side. "Killian," She whispered firmly, her breath hitching in her throat. Emma had never called him by his name before, especially not to his face. "Talk to me."

"About what?" He suddenly hissed, his voice louder than she expected – probably even he expected. She watched his jaw clench multiple times as he swallowed harshly.

"Anything," Emma answered, having learned a while ago that when he snapped at her it was not her fault. Not all the time, at least. She reached for his hand that was clenched around the armrests of his chair, but he was quick to pull away.

"There is nothing to say," He snapped, his voice icy. Still he did not look at her, his eyes firmly fixed on the point in front of him.

"You've never spoken of family?" She tried.

"That is because there is no family to speak of," Mr Jones laughed, but his laugh was an empty one. For a moment Emma thought that was all he would say, but then he opened his mouth again. "My mother died when I was very young, my father left my brother and I behind not much after she passed, and then my brother went missing just before I turned eighteen."

"I apologise, that was a terrible subject," Emma frowned. "I did not know."

"Because I do not talk about it," Mr Jones stated, sighing deeply, clearly the subject hurt him. In a way she finally started to understand. With all the little bits she uncovered, she got to know him better, and started to understand why he did the things he did.

He loved his wife dearly, but it was not his only reasoning for pushing Grace away from him.

Everyone he had ever loved was somehow taken from him. If Grace was all he had left, he could not lose her either. Or maybe he was selfishly protecting himself, if he did not love Grace, it would not hurt him if she were to be taken from him.

Emma bit down on her lip before carefully speaking her next words. "Perhaps talking about it might soothe you?"

Finally he faced her, his tired eyes glaring at her. "You enjoy paining me, do you not?"

"It is true, it pleases me greatly," She teased lightly, but he didn't seem to think it funny and looked away from her again. "We can talk about something else," Emma offered.

Mr Jones closed his eyes for a long second and for a moment she thought he had gone back to completely ignoring her.

Emma sighed, readying herself to stand back up again.

"He was in the Royal Navy," He said abruptly. "He liked to keep busy instead of going from one pretentious event to another. I was supposed to enlist too, as soon as I turned eighteen, instead the ship went missing and they sent out letters to never expect them back."

"So it's possible –"

"No," He interrupted her, dismissing her suggestion quickly. His voice nearly resembled a bark, like an unknown, rabid dog hoping to scare you away. "If he was, he would have sent a letter. He would have come home. He is gone, Emma." He spoke calm words, but the certainty in his voice was painful. He almost looked at her, but his unwavering stubbornness was too important to him, so he clenched his jaw instead and stared straight ahead of him.

"Please do not lock me out, let us talk about something else."

"How about we talk about your family," He scoffed.

"Don't do this," Emma rose to her feet and sat down on the desk in front of him.

He eyed her with a scowl. "Get off."

"You will not look at me, so I will have to make you." Emma smiled coldly. Mr Jones rose to his feet, picked her up by her waist, his fingers digging harshly into her corset, and set her down on her feet, releasing her immediately after.

Emma's eyebrows shot up, staring at him with her hands on her hips, "What the hell?"

"Act like a child, get treated like a child," He explained, one challenging eyebrow raised.

"Oh, _I'm_ the child in this situation?" Emma scoffed and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Goodness! Then, pray tell, what are you? A toddler? Actually yes, a toddler is exactly what you are, they don't speak either!"

"You are crossing a line, Miss Emma," He warned sternly.

Emma scoffed, "I have crossed many lines before, you are only pointing it out because you know I'm right!"

Mr Jones remained silent after that. Both of them just glaring at each other until finally Emma sighed. He would not be the one to cave, and whilst both of them could be immensely stubborn, one of them had to be the mature adult – and it clearly was not going to be him.

"You do not have to talk," She started calmly. "But sitting here will not help you either. Let us take a walk and after that we can pick up Grace from ballet, how does that sound?"

"Less painful," He answered.

"All right," Emma nodded. "I will fetch my cloak and then we will leave." Mr Jones hummed stubbornly in response.

Emma tied her cloak around her neck as she returned to the foyer, seeing Mr Jones by the door, fiddling with the buttons of a new, clean vest. He wore a thick, dark–brown coat which went well with the navy blue scarf tied around his neck – Grace's gift, Emma realised.

"Truthfully, I do not have the patience for this right now," He complained, deciding to walk outside with only the lowest button fastened. Emma chuckled, grabbing hold of his arm as he walked past her.

"As I have already said, Milord," She started while bringing her fingers to the buttons of his vest. "All you need to do is ask."

"I am not some child that needs help getting dressed," He protested, it was but a weak protest for he did not even brush her hands away, allowing her to help anyway.

"I am aware of that, Sir. But it is cold, and I would hate for you to get sick."

"I didn't know you cared so much." There was a light hint of teasing in his voice, though Emma could not be entirely certain; he appeared too tired to even understand the definition of a joke.

"I don't, but you are already a pain in my arse as it is, I would not want to be around you when you get sick."

"I honestly do not know why I let you talk to me like that," He shook his head, watching her hands as they fastened the last button. Her hands stroked over his chest, to smooth out the fabric, she would tell herself. But truthfully, it felt oddly reassuring to feel his heart beat steadily underneath her palm.

"Are you going for a walk?" Ruby asked, suddenly behind them. Emma turned around and nodded, her hands lingering on his chest, his heart beating steadily underneath her palm. "Should you see some apples, would you pick them? Saves me from having to go to the market." Ruby handed her the basket without waiting for a reply.

But Emma nodded and accepted the basket anyway; it would not be that much trouble, she knew of a path that would lead them past some apple trees. Whether there were apples to be picked already remained to be seen. "Of course."

"Shall I pick up Grace?"

"Oh, no, our walk will not take long. We will pick her up afterwards," Emma replied. Ruby smiled brightly and turned around, retreating back to the kitchen. "Shall we?" Emma faced Mr Jones, he nodded and opened the door, allowing her to step out first.

Emma guided them down a path that ran parallel with a small creek, the soothing sound of the flowing of the water accompanied them throughout their walk.

While the path they took would look more beautiful in a few more weeks, she found its current state had its charm. Trees that had looked dormant, even dead, a few weeks ago started showing new signs of life and sounds of animals that had been hibernating sounded through the forest once more. The rebirth of all life was slowly starting again.

Emma thought it quite metaphorical, nature was gradually becoming its captivating self again, but it had not quite reached its peak yet; for that, it would take weeks, perhaps even months. Some things had been too withered by the winter to grow back, but in a year or two from now, new things would grow in its place.

In many ways, Mr Jones was exactly the same.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, his hands were tucked deep into the pockets of his coat, his chin buried in his scarf. He rarely looked up yet managed to keep the same distance between them. Mr Jones appeared deep in thought, but if his furrowed brow was any indication, it almost seemed as if he was letting his thoughts consume him.

"Mr Jones?" Emma questioned softly.

He lifted his chin, but his eyes were still staring down on the sandy path. "Yes, darling?" He murmured, suddenly coming to a halt and looking at her slightly panicked. "Sorry." He lifted his hand to scratch behind his ear, "I did not..."

"It is all right," Emma assured him, offering a gentle smile.

He nodded once, averting his eyes to the tops of the trees as if only now noticing that they were walking next to the tree line. "What did you want to ask?"

"What is your profession exactly?" She asked, for lack of a better question. Ruby and Mary Margaret had given her a vague idea, but not really knowing only made her all the more curious.

"Why do you ask?"

"You looked like you could use better company than your thoughts," Emma answered softly.

"Ah," Mr Jones nodded. "I am a businessman, but I would not want to bore you with the details."

"Maybe not details, but perhaps you could enlighten me a bit more?"

"To put it bluntly, the men I work for are always looking for new investments, they send me to make people across the world sign the contracts and they pay me for it."

Emma tilted her head slightly, wrapping her cloak a little tighter around herself when the wind made her shiver. "If you are away from home so much, are you the only one who knows how, then?"

"I am the only one who speaks four languages, shall we continue our walk?" He gestured forward, Emma hummed softly as she stepped next to him.

"I hope you do not mind my asking –"

"That has never stopped you before," He interrupted her with a chuckle, but looked at her, awaiting her question.

"That is true," Emma laughed. "How did you manage, when you were... intoxicated most of the time?"

He seemed to think about his answer for a short moment, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "Once I started spiralling down, my bosses started to take care of everything, places to stay, food, passage on a ship. All I had to do was stay sober long enough to get the contract signed. I believe that, if they wanted to fire me at all, they couldn't. Even in my drunken state, I was still much better than any other option they had."

An amused snort escaped her as she imagined old exasperated men cringe at the thought of having no one else to send than the man with a drinking problem. "They must be glad that you are feeling better now."

"I would not know," Mr Jones replied. "I let them know I needed some time to myself, they very reluctantly gave me two weeks." He chuckled softly and shook his head. "They were not too happy when I made it clear that two weeks would not cut it."

Emma laughed. "I imagine they were not. What did they say?"

"I must admit, I did not give them much of a choice, the way I see it, they need me more than I need them. I do not even have to work for the money, I choose to because I want to keep busy. In any case, I leave again tomorrow."

"What?" Emma halted abruptly. He turned to face her, arching an impatient eyebrow; the cold wind had turned his nose and cheeks, as well as the tips of his ears red. No doubt, he'd rather continue walking instead of standing still. "But you –"

"I promise I have told Grace already, as well as informed Ruby, and I did intend to tell you as well."

Emma frowned at him, aside from his reddened cheeks he looked very pale and his eyes were a clear indication he was still not sleeping well. "Are you even well enough to go?"

He shrugged, shifting his weight and averting his eyes from hers as if he felt uncomfortable underneath her gaze. "I suppose we will simply have to find out."

"Milord, with all due respect, just an hour ago you sat in your office staring ahead, and it almost looked like you belonged in a lunatic asylum."

He scowled at her. "Why is it, that you start your sentence by saying you respect me, then proceed to insult me?"

"I respectfully insult you, Milord." Emma laughed. "It is just my personal opinion that I do not think you should leave."

"I recognise that, but I have already confirmed my travel. And I will not change it," He added firmly.

"Yes, Milord," Emma answered, understanding that he would rather not talk about it anymore. She looked behind him as she took note of the trees behind him; whilst many of them were still green and unripe, a few red apples hung from the trees.

He glanced over his shoulder, following her stare. "What?"

"Ruby asked to bring apples, I think there are some over there." Emma pointed at the apple trees, he nodded, silently following her towards them.

Emma set the basket down at her feet and reached for an apple, inspecting it properly before plucking it and laying it in the basket, following the same process for the next ones. His footsteps sounded not too far behind her followed by quietly kicking at the fallen leaves. She looked at him over her shoulder, he stood a few metres away from her, his hands once more in his pocket, his gaze to the ground.

The thought that he was going to be alone for over two weeks was one that frightened her, not necessarily because she did not trust his ability to stay away from liquor, but because the thoughts in his head – the ones he refused to speak about with anyone – seemed too much for him to be left alone with.

Emma pursed her lips as she polished an apple on her sleeve and held it out to him. He instinctively reached out for the offered apple and then hesitated, his hand lingering just above her hand, making her chuckle.

"You think I am a witch?" She tilted her head and grinned mischievously as she referenced the book that he had brought for Grace just before Christmas. In it, an Evil Queen offered the fairest of them all a poisoned apple because she was jealous of her beauty.

"Sometimes," He said absently, taking the apple at last and biting down into the fruit.

"What is that supposed to mean, Milord?" Emma laughed as she turned around and continued to fill the basket with the reddest apples she could find – and reach. The ripest apples were far beyond her reach, unfortunately.

"That I wonder why I let you walk over me like that," He started, his voice barely a soft whisper, she heard his footsteps come closer. She tried to ignore how her heart started beating faster and how an odd sensation of anticipation washed over her. Emma cleared her throat almost inaudibly and reached for an apple above her, just a little too far out of reach, her fingertips barely brushed over the cold, hard skin. "Why I let you order me around, why sometimes when I close my eyes –" He stood right behind her now, her chest rose and fell quickly as she listened to his continued words, "– or dream at night, all I see is you," His tongue curled around each word, they almost sounded sinful, coming from his mouth. It gave her an unfamiliar – though not unpleasant – feeling low in her belly.

Emma swallowed thickly as she turned around and he stood right before her.

"What other explanation is there? The only one I can think of is that you have bewitched me," He murmured, reaching behind her to pick the apple she had been trying to reach and holding it between them.

"Thank you," She muttered, her breath having hitched in her throat, leaving her unable to produce anything more than a low whisper. He hummed softly in response, his fingers cold as they stroked her hair behind her ear.

For a moment he did nothing but stare at her, as if he was trying to understand why she did these things to him. She was very aware of his touch, cold fingers that barely touched the skin below her ear, but left a trail of goose bumps down her spine. Of her hand that still held the apple exactly the way he handed it to her, trapped between her chest and his. Of her breath, uneven and quick – any faster and her corset would pop and her breasts would spill. At that thought, she swallowed down a nervous laugh and stepped away from him.

"We need to pick up Grace," She whispered, picking up the heavy basket at their feet with a small grunt.

"Let me," He reached for the basket in her hands, not even awaiting her objection. She mumbled soft words of gratitude which she was not even certain he had heard, and followed him back onto the path.

* * *

"Emma! Father! This is so wonderful!" Grace ran towards them, her unruly hair sticking out every direction, half of it barely held back by her bun anymore. Emma knelt down to wrap Grace in a hug, asking her about her day. As usual, the girl rattled on about how amazing it was, the things she learnt, the friends she spoke with that day, and so on.

"Oh, I forgot my shoes!" Grace abruptly said and ran back inside without another word.

"Is she always like this?" Lord Jones chuckled almost nervously, switching the basket to his other arm.

"Usually, though today I am certain there is added excitement because you have come to pick her up."

"With you."

"With me," Emma agreed, her lips curving into a smile while watching the door intently for Grace's return. When she did return, she continued babbling about her day, casually slipping that her shoes were actually a size too small now, and that she had to borrow shoes from the school, hence why she forgot. Mr Jones promised to buy her new shoes soon, but his attention was clearly elsewhere.

Grace walked in front of them, often looking behind them to make sure they were still following, but continuing to talk at a fast pace. Where she got the energy to dance for hours and then talk uninterrupted while barely taking enough breaths for the amount of words coming from her mouth was beyond Emma, but it was amusing, even if most of the time she had no idea what Grace was even talking about.

Emma felt a hand on her elbow, pulling her to a slightly slower pace. Mr Jones brought his lips to her ear while they continued to walk, "I am beginning to see why you prefer to end your days curled up with a book, in _silence_ ," He whispered with a grin.

Emma giggled softly, raising her hand to her mouth. "But look at her, she is so happy."

"Oh, it is wonderful, of course. But I imagine silence is welcome after an entire day of listening to this chatter."

Grace turned around again, smiling widely upon noticing her father's arm on Emma's. She stopped in her tracks, waiting for them to catch up, then reaching for Emma's hand.

"This is nice," Grace spoke with a large smile as they continued to walk. "Will you be picking me up together more often?"

"If that makes you happy, Gracie," Her father promised.

* * *

Some nights it dawned upon her just how silent the mansion was compared to the city. Even without holding your breath, you could easily make out every word spoken, every door closing, every footstep taken. Like the door that closed just a moment ago and the footsteps approaching. Emma lied silently in her bed, staring in the direction of the door. She knew it wasn't Ruby, for she had gone to bed hours ago – it was _that_ late already. Perhaps Grace couldn't sleep anymore and decided to come tell Emma about it – it would not have been the first time.

A faint light, a candle light most likely, crept underneath her door once the footsteps stopped. Not quite knowing why, she held her breath, awaiting the knock on her door that never came.

A long, painfully silent moment passed in which nothing happened and then the light faded and the footsteps walked away again.

Emma exhaled softly and stepped out of her bed, her bare feet touching the cold stone of her bedroom floor. She would have preferred to stay in bed where she was comfortable and warm, but it was curious that someone had stood in front of her door, well past midnight, and then left again. Emma took her dressing gown from the hanger next to her door and put it on before silently opening the door.

The hallway was not as dark as her room was; moonlight shone faintly through the high windows, but it was easy to tell who it was that had been standing at her bedroom door. Mr Jones was just a bit down the hallway, walking away from her.

"Milord?" Emma whispered, tying the cords around her waist. He turned around quickly, his sudden movement blowing out the candle.

"I apologise, Miss Emma, I did not mean to awaken you," He mumbled.

"You did not," Emma replied, crossing her arms in front of her in an attempt to cover herself up a little more, even with her nightgown and dressing gown, she felt almost naked before him. "Is everything all right?"

"I cannot sleep, is all," He answered softly.

"Shall I make you a cup of milk?" She offered, already stepping closer towards him.

"Will that help?"

"It might make you a little more sleepy," Emma replied, walking by his side towards the kitchen, her arms still wrapped around herself. "Milk is often given to children before bed to help them sleep."

"Are you implying I am a child?" He chuckled, though it sounded almost like an offended scoff.

It was that exact chuckle that made her grin and decide upon the more honest answer, "Sometimes."

He shook his head, yet a little smile played on his lips, and sat down on the kitchen chair, watching Emma carefully as she prepared a kettle and poured in the last bit of the milk.

She could feel his eyes on her, she just knew he was looking even with her back towards him, but his stare did not make her as uncomfortable as it once did. She still wondered what his thoughts were when he looked at her, though she imagined they were much kinder than they were three months ago.

"How come you cannot sleep?" He asked then, his voice low and tired.

"I don't know," Emma replied, having no desire to tell him that the silence scared her, finally turning around to face him. "What of you?"

"A troubled mind, I suppose," He answered while staring at his hands folded on the table. Emma nodded, lighting a few more candles.

"You _can_ talk to me. I understand that I would not be your first choice, I am not Ruby, but I am willing to listen if you want."

"Thank you." Mr Jones took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face before looking at her. She flashed him a tired smile. "Why did you lie to me?"

"When?" She asked, stirring in the steaming milk.

"Exactly how many times have lied to me, Miss Emma?" He grinned.

Emma chuckled softly and shook her head, looking at him over her shoulder. "I meant: when do you believe I lied to you?"

"Just now," Mr Jones replied. "When you said you did not know why you are unable to fall asleep."

She stared at the milk in the kettle, watching the milk slowly start to boil. "The mansion is quiet, that is all."

"Compared to?"

"The orphanage," Emma said quietly, dividing the milk between the two cups. The hum he responded with was an encouraging one. "There is always a child crying, people talking, footsteps in the hallway. A child talks in their sleep, another has a restless night. Outside people in the streets, hooves on the cobbles, a carriage driving by." Emma sighed softly as she poured two spoons of honey in each cup, then turned to sit down across him, shoving his cup over the table. "It is just never silent."

Mr Jones nodded, stirring the milk with his spoon. For a long moment the ticking of his spoon in his cup was the only sound in the kitchen. Proving Emma's point exactly; the mansion could be eerily quiet indeed.

"I am worried," He admitted finally, his soft voice breaking through the silence. "This is the first time I will be alone since. I've had many people helping me and surrounding me. I am scared to be left alone with my thoughts."

"Perhaps you should write letters when you are not feeling well," Emma suggested, wrapping her hands around her cup.

"Beg pardon?" Mr Jones frowned at her.

"You don't have to send them. Just write the letters, it might do you good to sort your thoughts out on paper. Write to a person you trust enough to let them see inside your mind."

"That sounds dull."

"It does not hurt to try," Emma offered with a soft smile, she reached out across the table for his hands but pulled back almost immediately upon realising what she was about to do. "You might find comfort in it."

"Very well," He replied.

"When do you leave?" Emma asked, bringing her cup to her lips, taking a small sip of the still too hot milk, nearly burning her tongue.

"Tomorrow after breakfast so I can properly say goodbye to Gracie."

Emma hid her smile behind her mug, remembering the days where he had left without a word, when they told her it was just the way things were done here. When Grace told her it was fine and pretended it did not hurt her.

And now he waited specifically until after breakfast so he could say goodbye to his little girl.

After they had finished their milk, he walked back with her until they reached her bedroom door.

"Will you be all right?" She asked, keeping her voice a low whisper to not wake the other servants.

Mr Jones nodded. "Eventually. Thank you for the conversation. And the milk."

"You're welcome, Milord." Emma smiled and curtsied. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Miss Emma."

* * *

 **Notes: I'm so sorry for the delay in this chapter,** **I'm not gonna lie I kind of needed a break from it because I was putting lots and lots of pressure onto myself to get it right, and it was literally making me sick. But I'm back, ready and super excited to continue writing!**

 **Thank you for all the lovely comments (and birthday wishes!) on the last chapter, if ever I doubted why I am pushing myself so hard, all I need to do is read your super kind comments!**


	9. Nine

_Early April, 1816._

Putting Grace to bed was a lot easier with the promise of her father's return in the morning. Grace had laid her head down on her pillow even before completely finishing her cup of milk and hurried Emma out of the room so she could fall asleep faster. Emma had smiled about it all the way down to the kitchen.

She found herself still smiling whilst pouring out a glass of water.

Out of the kitchen window she saw a carriage drive onto the property. Emma moved the curtain slightly, watching the carriage as it pulled up before the house. Her smile grew wider as she saw Mr Jones step out of it.

She left the kitchen, stepping out in the hallway just as the door opened.

"Has she gone to bed yet?" He questioned, hastily setting his suit- and briefcase by the door, taking off his coat quickly before handing it to her.

"Only a moment ago, she is very likely still awake," Emma answered, accepting the coat. He nodded quickly and stepped onto the staircase, taking two steps at a time. Emma smiled, shaking her head towards herself.

She brought the coat to his office to hang it by the door whereupon she waited in his office for his return. Emma looked around herself trying to find a reason for her staying in his office. All she saw were the two personal letters that had arrived for him whilst he was gone. She picked them up, but realised quickly that letters were not a reason that would make sense; they could wait until tomorrow.

Sighing in defeat, Emma laid the letters back down. Her hand lingered on the letters, her fingertips brushing over the wax seal. Why was she looking for an excuse to talk to him? Could she not simply ask how he was, would it be too forward of her to not wait until tomorrow? Then again, she had never been too bothered to contain her forwardness, why start now?

Emma flinched as the door opened, her hand swept the letters of his desk as she turned around.

"Oh," He mumbled upon strolling into his office, frowning at her as she kneeled down to pick up the letters. "Can I help you?"

"I have your mail," Emma said bluntly as she stood back up again, holding the letters up for him to see. Truthfully, she was not quite certain if she wanted to hit herself in the head, run, or was more hoping for a giant hole to open in the floor that would swallow her whole. His tired eyes watched her with amusement, a grin playing on his lips as walked past her and set his briefcase down on the desk.

"Is it important?" He asked, opening his briefcase. "Do we have to do this now?"

"No, Milord, I just..." Emma trailed off, what was she supposed to say? _I just wanted to ask you how you have been doing? I just wanted a reason to talk to you?_ At her silence, he looked up at her and was met with her pensive frown.

Mr Jones smiled kindly and gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. "Very well, perhaps you can read them to me whilst I unpack?"

"Oh - uh... Of course," Emma replied almost shyly and took a seat. Ruby said she had often read his mail to him, but Emma found mail a rather personal thing and perhaps he would not be willing to share everything with him yet. "I have a letter from Lady Belle French?"

Mr Jones did not look up and merely gave a soft hum in response as he sorted out some documents that came from his briefcase.

"Killian," Emma started the letter. It was written in a steady and controlled handwriting, almost like it belonged to someone who had spent time at court. "Ruby tells me you are slowly becoming your old self again. I would like to remind you of my last words to you, and tell you that this offer still stands. I do miss you. Belle."

A barely-there smile had curled around his lips while he pulled out some paperwork from his suitcase and laid it out on his desk. Between the papers a letter that was sealed off with his personal wax seal.

"What are her last words?" Emma asked curiously, her eyes lingering on the letter on his desk. When he noticed her stare he picked up the letter and laid it in the drawer of his desk.

He met her look with an apologetic smile. "Her exact last words were: once you stop being a self–centred asshole you may come visit me again. For now, I'd like you to leave."

Emma coughed in her hand to hide her grin. His expression revealed he did not fall for it, she gave him an apologetic smile in return.

"Yes," Mr Jones spoke the word almost like a sigh. "But I do not blame her. I was quite in shambles back then."

Emma nodded, turning the other letter in her hand to see who sent the letter. "I also have a letter from a Mr W. Avery. Shall I read this one to you as well?"

"Avery?" Mr Jones looked up with a frown, extending his hand. Emma didn't know what to make of his look, his frown almost looked like a displeased scowl.

"Anything else?" He questioned, holding the letter over the burning candle to loosen the seal.

"No, Milord," Emma answered, rising up from her chair. "How was your trip?

"It went rather well. But I can tell you about it at a later time," Emma nodded, curtsying and turning away from him. "Oh, Miss Emma, are you heading to the library?"

"Yes, Milord."

He rummaged through his briefcase and picked out a book, it did not look very new; in fact, it looked like it had been very well-loved over the years.

"It was a gift. They told me to pick out any book I wanted." He smiled and shook his head slightly before handing the book to her. Emma looked at the book, her fingers traced over the spine as she read the title, not recognising the title as something she read. Though it was clearly read many times, the book was well taken care of; the binding had been mended and the pages were only slightly yellowed. She opened it slightly, the first lines almost immediately dragging her into the story. "Have you read it before?"

"No, I have not." She glanced up at him, he returned her look with a gentle smile.

"Good," He stated, gesturing to the door. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Milord." Emma curtsied once more, hugging the book to her chest as she walked out, and made her way to the library.

Whilst sitting in the chair, curled up before the fire, it was easy to lose herself in the book, 'twas a story about far off lands, pirates and princesses, and love.

It was easy to lose track of time, devouring page after page after page.

It was easy to let her eyes slip closed and drift into a slumber.

"Miss Emma?" His voice gently awoke her.

She jolted awake at the touch of his hand on her shoulder, it made him pull his hand back quickly.

"The book will be here still once you wake up," Mr Jones spoke softly.

Emma nodded, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "What time is it?"

"Nearly two, I believe."

"Oh no." Emma rose from her chair, looking around her a little lost as to what to do first. The fire needed putting out, the book needed a place on the shelves, the blanket needed folding. Mr Jones extended his hand to her. "I will do it, go to bed," He said. "Oh, Miss Emma?" He spoke up before she was out the door.

"Yes, milord?"

"Uh... A friend – colleague of mine..." He struggled for words, but she silently let him work it all out. It was quite endearing. "His daughter is a ballet dancer. The reason Grace wanted to do ballet. Their company just had shows all across the grand cities of Europe and in two days they are back for their final show here, in London. He invited Grace and I to the show and afterwards there is a small affair to celebrate the end of their tour, I may not always be able to keep an eye onto Grace, I wondered if perhaps you would like to come with?"

"I would love to. Oh – but I am afraid I do not have anything proper to wear."

"Neither does Grace," Mr Jones said. "Tomorrow both of you shall take the carriage into the city."

Emma tilted her head and arched her eyebrow, her smile an unbelieving one. "You would pay for my dress, Milord?"

"Anything for Grace's happiness," He said, bowing his head slightly to bid her goodnight. "Sleep well."

"And you," Emma answered.

* * *

After helping into Grace the blue gown she had picked out yesterday and tying her hair in the requested bun, Grace decided she did not need help putting on her shoes, and Emma was left to stare around the room.

Grace's room looked out on the path between the trees that connected the mansion with the street. Before the house stood an unknown carriage, next to it two unknown drivers, conversing with each other. Emma hid as one of them caught sight of her – though she wasn't certain why.

Grace had her tongue out of her mouth as she sat on the floor of her room, finally having tied the laces of the first shoe. Emma smiled and shook her head, her smile faltering as her eyes landed upon herself in the mirror of Grace's room.

Ruby and Mary Margaret had taken upon themselves the impossible task of making her look like she would actually belong amongst the people she would be spending the evening with.

Mary Margaret had shared with her the trick of the burnt cork to darken the lashes. Her usually pale cheeks had received a light dusting of rouge, which had been gifted to Mary Margaret – she would not say who was the person to gift it to her, but it was clear that it had been David. And Ruby leant her the soft shade of red lip pomade that she often wore.

While Ruby had applied the makeup, Mary Margaret braided Emma's hair, pinning it back behind her head. Some untameable strands quickly sprung free quickly which had resulted in an impatient sigh from Mary Margaret.

Emma had laughed and told her that it was fine, in fact, she preferred it that way. Maybe she would receive some looks, but she liked the way the small locks of hair framed her face.

The coins Lord Jones had given her would purchase multiple gowns, she doubted she had ever held that much coin in her life – or would ever hold again. She had stared at him, eyes wide. And all he said was that she could pick any gown she liked.

From the moment she saw she gown in the shop she knew that it was the one. She had never owned a silk gown before, or a dress that beautiful, for that matter.

Ruby had tightened her corset to the point where she could barely breathe, then tugged the fabric at the front down a little. When Emma had scolded her, Ruby only flashed her a grin and said, "We want all eyes on you tonight." In that moment Emma's mind could conjure up a million objections, but Ruby wouldn't have any of it, instead she tied the bow tightly below her breast.

Emma watched herself in the mirror, her fingers brushing over the deep red silk, the sleeves that covered her arm until her elbow, then over the black waistband underneath her breast. Emma turned sideways, looking over her shoulder. The thick waistband was tied behind her back in a big bow, and her dress was just a bit longer in the back.

She could not help but smile. Even if she would never be one, in this dress she felt almost like a proper lady.

"You look so beautiful, Emma." Grace stood behind her, looking at her through the mirror.

Emma smiled and turned around, reaching out to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear. "So do you. Look at you, a true Princess."

"Then you must be a Queen," Grace replied and took hold of her hand. They walked side by side down the corridor until they stood at the top of the curved staircase. Looking down, her eyes met Killian's. She was not quite sure for which reason, but his lips parted slowly, eyes blinking rapidly before composing himself back again and breaking eye contact. That is when she noticed the man by his side. He looked older than Mr Jones, in his late thirties perhaps, though his face was relatively youthful, his caramel coloured hair had streaks of grey in it. His eyes were dark and they did not seem very kind, but his friendly smile made up for that.

Grace tugged at her hand, making Emma lean closer. "Did you see the way he looked at you?" Grace whispered in her ear. "He thinks you are beautiful."

"Or he thinks I am not covered enough and he will feel disgraced to be seen with me."

Grace shook her head and walked down the stairs with Emma by her side. Mr Jones gave them a small, unreadable smile.

Emma made a curtsy. "Milords."

"Milady," The unknown man said, bowing deeply.

Emma flushed red, looking at Mr Jones in a brief moment of panic, then back to the man. "I am not a lady, Milord," She quickly countered, barely making it through the sentence without stammering.

The man flashed her a grin. "Ah, but tonight you are. Please, call me William." Emma nodded politely – she would not be calling him that, of that she was certain. He looked at her as if he was expecting something from her but Mr Jones was quicker in figuring out what it was.

"William, this is Miss Emma, my daughter's nanny. Miss Emma, this is Mr William Avery, my friend."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Milord," Emma replied, noting the way Mr Jones introduced him as his friend and not his colleague, as he had done two days ago. Mr Avery gave a quick bow of his head.

"What do you think of our dresses, father?" Grace asked when no further words were spoken.

"You look beautiful," He replied. The short answer seemed to satisfy his daughter, but left Emma with more questions.

"Will Eleanor be there tonight?" Grace asked, directing the question to Mr Avery.

"Of course," Mr Avery answered. "From her correspondence, I know that she is looking forward to seeing you again."

Grace smiled contentedly. "And have you brought Shadow?"

"Naturally, shall we go say hello?" Grace nodded excitedly, following him outside.

"Milord?" Emma asked Mr Jones' attention before he could follow them.

"Yes, Miss Emma?" He turned around to face her again. Behind him the front door shut closed with a soft thud – too soft for such a heavy door, it probably did not close properly, not that it mattered. He arched an eyebrow as she remained silent, her attention with unimportant things.

She could feel a blush creep onto her cheeks, though there was nothing special in his eyes, there was no love or admiration, the way he looked at her now was a far cry from the way he looked at a person a few months ago. Just by the way his eyes locked eyes with hers and never looked away – even if she did, fidgeting underneath his intense gaze – she knew she had his endless attention. It caught her off guard every time, and even though she fought it every time, her body betrayed her; her cheeks flushing, her heart beating in her throat, her head spinning.

"I am –" She finally started, barely mustering a low whisper. Emma cleared her throat, speaking a little louder this time, "I am uncertain of what to make of your reaction, so I would like to ask... Is my gown all right?"

The light shake of his head was an amused one. "Of course it is."

"Are you certain? Because –"

Mr Jones raised his hand, gently silencing her. "The gown is beautiful, Miss Emma, fear not. It suits you. Now, shall we go, lest my daughter convinces me to buy yet another horse."

Apparently, Shadow was a stunning black Friesian. A gentle horse, nudging his nose against Grace, asking for more attention when she was briefly distracted by Emma and Mr Jones. Grace gave him a large, hopeful smile, but Lord Jones was quick to shake his head firmly.

Emma stared up at the carriage, it was a white one, low and without a roof. It was different from the black carriage they owned.

"I thought, best bring my open carriage with this beautiful weather," Lord Avery explained to no one in particular. "Shall we? We would not want to be late."

* * *

"Thank you, milord," Emma mumbled as Lord Avery extended his hand to help her out of the carriage.

She came to stand next to Grace who had been staring at the building from the moment the carriage pulled to a halt. Multiple storeys, tall windows with marble windowsills, a grand entrance door, made out of posh wood. It was a remarkable building indeed, it appeared as though only the most prestigious events were allowed to be held in it. It drew people from all over the country, many of them had clearly had more coin than Emma would ever make in her life, and she quickly felt out of place.

She felt a presence behind her, turning around revealed Mr Avery standing with one hand in his coat pocket, another pointing at the building. "Stunning, wouldn't you say?"

"Very, milord," Emma replied, accepting his arm as he offered it to her and walked with him, Grace and Mr Jones following behind them, towards their booth.

Whilst the ballet itself was spectacular, the dancing incredible, the music breathtaking, it was not what had her attention.

No, what had her attention was the conversation that happened on her left. Lord Avery's voice was a loud whisper, he clearly misjudged the loudness of the orchestra, or his voice. Whichever the case, Emma was able to hear every word that came from his mouth.

"Jones, have you considered taking a new wife?"

Mr Jones' reply was a soft one, but it came just as the music silenced. "No."

"And what of the women in your service?" Lord Avery questioned softly. "Has one of them tumbled in your bed yet?" Emma could not quite hear Mr Jones' answer, but she did hear the exasperated sigh falling from his lips.

Emma looked at Grace, she had taken her chair and dragged it closer to the balustrade, her arms folded underneath her chin, glistening eyes filled with admiration never leaving the scene below.

When a serving girl lifted the curtain that shielded their booth from the hallway, politely asking whether they would like some more refreshments, Emma rose to her feet, excusing herself with a small curtsy. Grace did not even look up at her, which made her feel a little better about leaving her behind.

"A lady should not wander the hallways alone," Lord William spoke up, handing the serving girl some coin for the beverages.

"Good thing I am not a lady, then, Milord," Emma answered with a smile, stepping behind the curtain into the hallway. The serving girl smiled and nodded politely at Emma as she stepped past her, then walked over to the next booth, leaving Emma to stand alone in the dimly lit hallway.

Even if the hall smelled of smoke, beer and ale, smoke, and oranges, Emma found it more liberating and easier to breathe than in the booth.

"Where did you find her?" Mr Avery's voice sounded, muffled by the curtain.

"Excuse me?" Mr Jones huffed. Emma could easily imagine his raised eyebrow.

"Emma," Mr Avery explained. "Good Heavens, she is quite a find."

Emma had not meant to eavesdrop on their conversation, in truth, she had been running away from it. But even she could not walk away from a conversation that was clearly about her.

"Yes, she is good with Grace," Lord Jones replied though his voice was quite flat. It was evident, even to Emma, that he had no interest in pursuing this conversation.

"Not what I meant and you know it." Mr Avery's voice sounded as though he was grinning. "She is quite something."

"What is your point?" Mr Jones bit sharply.

"She's just very beautiful." The innocence in Mr Avery's words was unashamedly feigned.

"I suppose," Lord Jones replied softly.

"Killian, I will never understand you. You have a beautiful woman right there in your household, right there ready for you to bed her and you just refuse to do it."

"Grace," Mr Jones said suddenly. A silence. "Grace?" He spoke again, a little louder this time.

"Yes, father?" Grace replied, sounding as if startled.

"Go fetch Miss Emma," Mr Jones ordered. Another silence.

"Oh – Where is Emma?"

"I do not know," Mr Jones replied, "Out in the hallway, just fetch her."

"But I –"

"Grace!"

"Yes, father," Grace obeyed softly, the curtain moved and Grace stepped from behind it, Emma was quick to bring her finger to her lips, making sure Grace did not betray her hiding spot. Grace nodded, standing next to her, hiding in the shadows.

"She is my daughter's nanny," Mr Jones spoke every word clearly.

"She is a servant, Jones. Surely she's used to it. Or perhaps she is not," Mr Avery's honey-like voice sent an unpleasant chill over her back. "Perhaps I shall find out soon."

Guilt overcame Emma that she would rather continue to listen to this conversation instead of taking Grace away from it like her father's intention was. But Grace reached for Emma's hand, nodding at her as if to assure her that she would be all right.

Suddenly a chair was shoved back, a harsh, abrupt sound of a chair scraping over the flooring. When Mr Jones spoke next, his voice was brought to a low, threatening whisper. "You will do no such thing. You will not come near her, you will not look at her, you will not even think about her."

"What is it with you? Have you grown feelings for her? A servant?"

"What I feel for her has nothing to do with the fact that I won't bed a servant."

"So you do feel something for her."

Emma's heart beat in her throat, whatever Mr Jones' reply was, she did not want to hear it. She stepped out behind the curtains, Grace's hand still in hers. Both men looked up, but this time Emma had a difficult time believing the genuineness of Lord Avery's smile.

"I found Emma," Grace said and sat back down again, anyone seeing her could never guess she had just been standing behind the curtains.

Mr Jones gave his daughter a nod and turned back to face Lord Avery. "It does not matter. I should not, and I most certainly will not act upon these feelings. This conversation is over, as it should have been a while ago," He then decided.

"Very well," Lord William nodded, though Emma kept her gaze firmly ahead of her, she felt his eyes upon her.

After the performance, they rode the carriage to a new location, this one even more prestigious than the previous and she realised that Mr Jones had joked when he told her it was a small gathering.

It was almost a small castle, its driveway lit with a thousand candles, hundreds of carriages pulled up to the castle and ladies and gentlemen of higher classes than Mr Jones stepped out of them.

If she had felt out of place during the ballet performance, she certainly felt like she did not belong here.

Refusing Mr Avery's help Emma managed to get out of the carriage less than gracefully, much to Mr Jones amusement. Though, with the smug grin and the wobble of his eyebrows he flashed Mr Avery, Emma was not quite certain whether he was amused by her clumsy way of getting out of the carriage, or by the way she had denied Mr Avery's help.

Grace's hand slipped into Emma's as they walked inside the castle. Never had Emma attended such a large social gathering, it was almost scary how many people fit into the multiple ballrooms and dining halls. Though the musicians were playing music, not a lot of people were dancing.

"Father!" A young girl came rushing through the crowd. Emma recognised her as Eleanor, for Grace had pointed at her multiple times throughout the performance. Seeing her up close, Emma noticed she was younger than she expected, sixteen at most. Her blonde hair was still in a tight bun, though her ballet ensemble had been traded for a flowing, soft pink dress.

Eleanor wrapped her arms around her father's neck, "I have missed you so much, father."

"And I you, my darling." He smiled at her – though this time his smile was one filled with genuine adoration. "You remember Killian," Mr Avery spoke, as they broke apart.

"Of course," Eleanor said coyly, curtsying before him. Unwarranted jealousy overcame Emma as she watched the two of them exchange pleasantries. Mr Jones treated her with kindness, but he did not return her enticing behaviour – not that Miss Eleanor seemed to notice.

When Eleanor turned her attention to Grace at last, Emma dared not look at Lord Jones. She closed her eyes and took a breath. The feelings of she had quickly recognised as jealousy overtook her by surprise. She did not know why she felt this way or when she started feeling this way.

"This is my new nanny, Emma," Grace said with a wide smile.

"What a pleasure it is to meet you," She said politely and curtsied. Emma returned her curtsy with a shy smile. Shyness over the idea that Emma was jealous of a young girl with a childhood infatuation, while the girl was nothing but kind to her.

Grace took Eleanor's hand in hers and walked ahead to the dining room. "Miss Charlotte has gotten married, did you know?"

"Truly? And how are you liking your new nanny?"

Grace looked over her shoulder at Emma and smiled at her. "She is incredible."

Emma smiled at the floor, walking closely behind them.

With Eleanor, Grace had no attention for Emma, the two of them spoke animatedly. Though Eleanor had just performed a dancing routine of two hours, her energy was a close match to Grace's. They both spoke fast – and as with Grace, Emma had no idea what Eleanor spoke of.

"You get used to it," Mr Avery said, suddenly standing next to her.

"May we dance, father?" Grace asked after, not looking at him, instead looking at the dancing couples in the ballroom. Eleanor looked almost hopefully at Mr Jones, possibly hoping he would ask her to dance with him. But Mr Jones ignored her look, or perhaps he simply had not seen the way she looked at him.

"Go ahead," He waved them away with a grin. Emma excused herself and followed the young girls and placed herself in a spot where she could keep an eye on them.

She watched them dance for what seemed for hours, a bored man near her had made a habit of announcing the time every half hour to his wife. His wife, on the other hand, seemed to more and more entertained with each thirty minutes that passed.

While watching Grace dance endlessly with Eleanor was quite entertaining – as well as endearing; neither one of them knew the steps to any of the dances, and while sometimes they tried to imitate other dancers, they often just made steps up as they went along –, it did not compare to the humorous situation that unfolded behind her every half hour. The more bored the man got, the more slurred his wife's words got, and the more she did not care.

A few moments after the man had announced it was ten in the evening, she saw Mr Avery and Mr Jones walk towards her through the crowd.

"Miss Emma –" Mr Avery started.

"May I have the next dance?" Lord Jones interrupted him.

"Um," Emma parted her lips, then shook off her confusion with a shake of her head. "Yes. Oh – I apologise, milord, was there anything you wanted to ask?" She faced the other man, tilting her head slightly.

"No, nothing," Lord Avery answered sharply, gesturing to Mr Jones and leaving them alone, disappearing back in the crowd.

Mr Jones stood by her side while waiting for the next song to start. "How is my daughter?"

"Very well, milord, I do not believe she is tired yet," Emma laughed.

"No, I imagine she is not." He laughed softly. "Her – Her mother could dance for hours on end as well," Mr Jones scratched behind his ear and cleared his throat. Emma looked up at him with a gentle smile. "How are you enjoying yourself, Miss Emma?"

"Quite well, thank you," Emma answered. Mr Jones held out his hand as the music faded into a new song, she took it and let him guide her towards where Grace and Eleanor were dancing. Grace's hair fell over her shoulders in wild bouncy curls, the ribbon that had held her hair together tied around her wrist.

Emma curtsied all the women did, and Mr Jones bowed down in response, just as all men did. He flashed a grin at Grace, who stood next to him, imitating the way he moved as well as she could, and Grace smiled widely in return. They looked so proud of each other.

Mr Jones then locked eyes with Emma, his eyes held her captive throughout their dance, as well as their second.

Emma tried not to read into it, but she knew well enough that when a gentleman shared a second dance with a lady he was doing so because he wanted the lady to know he was interested in her.

"Thank you for doing me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Emma," He spoke gently upon finishing their second dance. His hand held onto hers a bit longer than was proper but released it when Grace came to stand next to them, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

Emma nodded wordlessly, not because it was common etiquette, but because he'd stolen the words from her mouth. There was something in his eyes that took away her breath and left her staring at him with parted lips and nothing useful to say.

"Shall we go home, darling?" He asked Grace, "It is well past your bedtime, is it not?"

Grace's words of protest were interrupted by another yawn, forcing her to admit that she was tired.

The carriage ride home was silent, Eleanor had fallen asleep with her head against her father's shoulder. Mr Avery had not said a single word since they had stepped into the carriage. Grace had fallen asleep with her head on Emma's lap and her feet onto her father's lap. Emma gently stroked through her tangled curls, as she stared at the scenery they passed. Whilst the open carriage was nice enough during the day, the cold night air made her shiver. Mr Jones shrugged off his coat – careful to not disturb Grace – and draped it over her shoulders.

"Thank you, milord," Emma muttered softly, tugging it a bit tighter around herself. It instantly warmed her up and the sweet scent that came with it was certainly pleasant as well.

Mr Jones awoke his daughter once the carriage pulled to a halt before the mansion.

"Must I go to bed now, father?" Grace mumbled tiredly, rubbing at her eyes with the palms of her hands. Mr Jones chuckled as he stepped out of the carriage and turned around to help his daughter out of the carriage as well.

"Goodnight, darling," He kissed Grace's forehead and pulled her into a hug.

"Goodnight, Lady Emma," Mr Avery spoke finally, taking her hand in his to press a gentle kiss against her knuckles.

"Goodnight, milord," Emma answered politely, curtsying before turning around to go inside with Grace. When they walked up the stairs Emma noticed the huge grin on Grace's face, "what?"

"Nothing," She replied faux–innocently, followed by a giggle.

"Is it because Lord Avery kissed my hand?"

Grace sighed and rolled her eyes. "Because you danced with father, Emma! Twice!" Emma shook her head, perhaps it was indeed odd, that he danced only with her and wanted to leave as soon as his two dances with her were up. She didn't know his reasons, but, until Grace brought it up, she did not want to question them either.

He was her employer and that was as far as their relationship would ever go.

In another life, this could have been her reality; dancing with a handsome man for no other reason than him wanting to marry her. And being allowed to feel like a princess, dancing with her prince at a ball.

Perhaps even dancing with him in justified hopes of the night ending with a marriage proposal.

But that was not her. She was just a servant, he was the man she worked for – and for an unknown reason he chose to dance with her.

And it had been a magical dream. Though, however unfortunately, she was waking up.

In silence, Emma opened the door to Grace's bedroom and helped her out of her gown.

"Are you angry, Emma?"

"Why would I be angry, sweetheart?" Emma asked, taking a nightdress from her wardrobe and handing it to her.

"For what I said, you suddenly fell silent. I did not mean to hurt you."

"You did not, Gracie," Emma answered, taking Grace's brush from the drawer and brushing out her tangled curls. "It is simply that, whichever reasons your father had to dance with me, they matter not, for I am nothing more than a servant. Men like him don't fall in love with women like me."

"Have you fallen in love with him?" Grace asked softly. There was no giggling, not teasing, just a genuine question.

"No," Emma replied. It was not a lie, but perhaps not completely the truth either. Whichever feelings she may or may not have, they did not matter. She needed to remember her position.

"I think he is falling in love with you," Grace suddenly said after a long moment of silence.

Emma tried so hard to ignore the sudden flutter of her heart, tried to ignore her words, pretend she didn't hear them, but failed immensely, her curiosity fought her common sense and won, "What makes you say that?"

"It is in his eyes. He did not like you much in the beginning," Grace laughed softly, letting Emma tuck her in bed. "But the way he looks at you is much softer now. He even listens to you sometimes, not even Ruby can tell him what to do the way you do."

"I don't tell him what to do," Emma protested.

"Of course you do not." Grace giggled.

Emma shook her head, hiding a smile. "Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight, I love you."

"And I you," Emma pressed a kiss on her forehead and blew out the candle on her nightstand.

Upon softly closing the door behind her, she noticed Mr Jones in the hallway. Emma couldn't quite read him, the somewhat confused look he had was a far cry from the soft look Grace described, and she wondered if perhaps it was just childlike imagination that made Grace say the things she said. Which, in truth, was much more probable.

"Milord," Emma whispered, "She is not yet asleep –"

He shook his head, gesturing for her to follow him. "Did she tell you she loves you?" He asked once they were standing atop the grand staircase.

"Yes, milord."

"Is it the first time she has done that?"

"No, milord."

Lord Jones frowned, his fingers tracing the pattern of the wooden banisters.

"You said you loved her too, is that true?"

"Of course," Emma answered, rather offended. His frown grew. "Milord," She quickly added. Mr Jones sighed, a small smile on his lips, as if he could not stop it even if he wanted to.

"Good," He turned his back to her and started walking down the stairs.

"Goodnight," Emma mumbled after him.

"Night," He replied, barely audible.

Emma stared at him until he was out of the foyer, not once looking back. Throughout their dance he had not kept his eyes off her, and now he could not even look at her.

Was it the bliss of the party that made all of it happen? Would he now return to his cold self? Why did he seem so surprised to find that his daughter liked her enough to say 'I love you' before she went to bed?

Emma brushed her hand over the fabric of her gown, not quite yet ready to say the night goodbye – the night, nor her dress.

She went to the library, to pick up the book he had brought from his trip two days ago, before going to the grand salon. The grand salon was pleasantly warm, even if the windows were still opened and a cool breeze slipped past the curtains. Emma laid the book on the chaise before the fire and made way to close the windows. They creaked softly as she pushed their heavy weight closed, and made a mental note to tell the appropriate person to take a look at it.

Upon closing the final one, she hesitated, staring outside to the countless amount of stars. The beauty of it all never failed to amaze her. She remembered the sleepless nights in the orphanage, sitting by the window of her shared room and staring at the night sky until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

A falling star shot across the sky, and any other day she would have scolded herself for closing her eyes and making a wish, but she had hope that perhaps the magic of the night was not over yet. When she closed her eyes, she had not been certain of what to wish for. Though her heart was quick to tell her what she wanted and for once, it was easy to listen.

In the morning she would berate herself for all this foolishness, but not tonight.

"I wish..." She started with a whisper, feeling her heart race in her chest, thrilled that she finally gave in. Yet her mind screamed at her, Emma was certain that if her mind were a person standing next to her, it would take the form of one of the orphanage workers, yelling things like 'you foolish child!'

Still, the beating of her heart sounded louder. "I wish –"

"Miss Emma?" Mr Jones' voice broke through her thoughts, leaving her unable to finish her wish.

She turned around, seeing him stand in the doorway, a cup of tea in his hand. Much softer features than earlier on the staircase. He had switched his proper outfit for something more comfortable. A grey waistcoat over a white shirt, with light beige trousers, socks but no shoes.

Perhaps her wish had already been granted.

"What are you doing?"

"Closing the windows, Milord," Emma replied, her heart was still racing, it translated in shaking hands and a nervous voice. "I wanted to read."

Killian nodded once, placing his cup atop the piano and walked over to the fireplace to add another log to it. Emma pushed the last window closed, taking one last glance at the starry night sky before closing the curtains.

"Where did you learn how to dance, Miss Emma?" Mr Jones asked while walking back over to the piano.

"I never did," Emma replied, tossing off her shoes to the side and taking a seat on the chaise.

Killian arched an impressed eyebrow, "Well, then you must be a natural."

It was hard to figure out, but Emma believed he did just pay her a compliment. Was she supposed to thank him? Was it even truly a compliment? She had never once heard him say something positive directly about her.

Emma considered replying long enough for the time between his words and her answer to be more embarrassing than to say thank you for a compliment that was not a compliment and decided to remain silent.

She opened her book and started reading, a tale about a princess and a pirate.

The reason of his staying in the room did not quite become clear to her until she heard the first notes on the piano.

A gentle background music, not distracting at all.

At first.

One glance became a second, a second became a third, a third became a stare.

He had his eyes closed, his hands hidden from her sight, but she saw certain movements. She also saw he was not playing with any partitions. He was playing what he felt, and it conveyed. She felt many things at once, sadness and anger, but also hope.

Emma closed her book, devoting her full attention to watching him play, watching him move as though he moved through water, a relatively calm expression.

Behind him the library door opened carefully, Ruby peeking through it. She flashed Emma a smile but remained at her position by the door. Though Killian sat with his back to her, Ruby smiled as if he could see her.

And then Emma saw it in her eyes, the same feeling his music gave her.

Hope.

And all Emma wanted to do was cry.

Killian stopped playing and the door behind him closed again, as if Ruby had never even been here. Emma quickly wiped away her tears and looked away from him, intently staring at the fire.

"Are you all right?" His voice sounded closer, but she could not look at him, not when her tears were still drying on her cheeks.

"I am fine, are you?" She retorted harshly

His chuckle sounded more like a scoff. "I am not the one who's crying."

She snapped her head up at him, he sat in the chaise across her, leaning forward, his elbow leaning on his legs, cup of tea still in his hands. "You do not cry, you play piano instead. I apologise that we do not show our emotions the same way."

Mr Jones smiled, his head slightly tilted, "Are you angry Miss Emma?"

"Yes, you made me cry, and here I was having such a good night," She was not truly angry of course, especially not when he looked at her the way he did now.

"Glad to hear you had a nice night."

"Did you not?"

"Not until I danced with you," He admitted and leant back in the sofa, sipping from his tea. "The company left much to be desired."

"I thought it went well," Emma offered, still pretending that she had not heard the words Mr Avery had spoken about her.

He smiled in reply, "And I'm glad you thought so." He downed the last bit of the tea and stretched out his legs. "Perhaps it is time to go to bed."

"Perhaps."

"Not tired then? Did we not dance enough?"

"I merely wanted to get lost in this book so I could stay in this gown for much longer," Emma laughed but got up as well.

"It is a pretty gown," Mr Jones replied. Surely, it was a compliment. But for the gown, not her. And then, "It suits you."

Definitely a compliment for her.

"Thank you, Milord," She whispered, a blush colouring her cheeks. She watched him kneel by the fire to put it out, leaving nothing but smouldering embers.

They walked out of the Grand Salon side by side until they once again reached the staircase.

"Goodnight, again," Emma smiled.

"Goodnight," He murmured and extended his hand. She took it without a second thought; it was simply that it was the proper etiquette. When a gentleman offers you his hand you take it. She did not realise what had happened until her palm slipped into his and he brought his mouth to her hand, brushing a soft kiss against her knuckles – his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary.

Her lips parted, letting a short, inaudible gasp escape from them.

He gently released her hand and took a small courteous bow before stepping away from her.

Her eyes followed him as he walked through the dimly lit hallway, he seemed to hesitate before his door, his hand on the doorknob, but then entered his room anyway, closing the door with a soft thud.

With shaking legs she walked down the staircase, making way for the kitchen to get a glass of water.

"Somebody looks smitten," Ruby's voice made Emma flinch so badly she dropped the glass.

"Oh, Gods above, I am so sorry," Emma fell to her knees and frantically started picking up the pieces.

"It is but a glass, Emma. Do not worry, we've got plenty," Ruby knelt down next to her and helped her with the larger pieces. "But tell me about that blush that is colouring your pretty cheeks oh so pink," She teased.

"There is not much to tell," Emma lied. There were so many things to say, so many things to ask.

"You do not fool me," Ruby smirked, "Go on, tell me. I will not share, I promise."

"It was nothing. He merely kissed my hand," Emma blurted out in a whisper. The pieces Ruby had been holding collided with the ground once more.

"Truly?"

"Yes, just now atop the staircase," Emma whispered, not trusting her voice to speak up louder. Even so, Ruby was loud enough for the both of them.

"I knew this would happen," She said matter-of-factly, taking a brush to swipe the floor for the smallest pieces.

"Truly? Do share, for I am completely baffled by this turn of events."

"It is the little things, Emma" Ruby smiled. "I am certain you are aware of this, but he has not played the piano since before Grace was born. Hearing him play again, it is good, he is finally healing, and I am certain it has to do with you."

"That is foolish, Ruby. This is not a fairytale, this is not a story, this is real life. Things like that do not happen."

"But it is happening. It is your own story."

"I am afraid it will not have the happy ending we would hope for when reading such a story..." Emma sighed, taking a second glass and filling it with water.

"And why is that?"

"Because, Ruby, he is about fifty classes above me. I am nothing, I _have_ nothing. I saw the way women looked at him today. He could choose any woman he wants. Why in the world would he pick me over any woman with riches, titles, and lands to her name?" Ruby opened her mouth but Emma held up her hand. "I do not wish to talk about this anymore, lest my heart gets foolish ideas. Please," she pleaded, her voice cracking.

"Of course," Ruby gave her a sympathetic look, offering her a hug – an offer Emma gladly took. It was one of the first times she found herself in the safety of someone's hug and it was slightly overwhelming. For the second time that night, tears came to her eyes, only this time she let them flow.

"It is going to be all right," Ruby promised.

"How can you know?" Emma sobbed.

"Have faith."

* * *

 _ **Notes:**_

 _ **As always, thank you so much for your kind reviews and comments, I am so grateful for each and every one of you!**_


	10. Ten

_**Notes:**_

 _ **You guys have been asking me for more insight to Killian's mind, so here is an entire chapter in Killian's POV for you.**_

* * *

 _Late April, 1816._

Night had fallen by the time the carriage drove onto the familiar driveway. No matter how fast he had tried to get home, Grace was very likely already in bed and it disappointed him–and very likely Grace as well. With a deep sigh, he stepped out of the carriage. The sound of his feet on the gravel, the silence that surrounded the mansion, the scent of the nature, the trees and flowers that grew on the property, it was all so familiar. He knew the area like the back of his hand, but for the first time in an extremely long while, he looked at the mansion and considered it home again.

Thomas scurried away when Killian dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The cold evening air cut his cheeks, not even the blue scarf Grace had knitted for him could keep him warm. He was tired and had been in the damn carriage for far too long. And all he wanted to do was sleep.

He pushed open the heavy front door, sighing deeply as he saw that Grace was not sitting on the staircase waiting for him.

He did see Ruby atop the staircase and nearly had to suppress a grunt. He did not feel much for talking to people right now.

"Milord," Ruby spoke before he could disappear in his office.

"Not now," Killian mumbled, taking his key from his pocket to unlock the office door.

"Milord –"

"Not now, Ruby!" He snapped while unlocking the door.

"Killian!" Ruby said firmly, making him stop and turn around, the angry scowl faltering when he met her sad eyes. Her face was distressed, her cheeks were tear–stained. "'Tis Grace, Sir, she has fallen terribly ill."

Killian dropped everything in that moment, keys and suitcase clattering to the floor–his clothes and the book he brought for Emma spilling out as it opened–before he pushed past Ruby, towards the staircase. "Why have I not heard of this?!"

"I just told you!" Ruby yelled. "Emma sent a letter to you, but it mustn't have arrived before you left."

Killian stopped halfway on the stairs, looking back at Ruby. "Where is Miss Emma?"

"She is with Grace, Sir, she has not left her side since she fell ill."

Killian dismissed her, walking further up the stairs, quickening his pace until he reached Grace's room. His heart beat heavily in his chest once he stopped at his daughter's door. He took a moment to compose himself, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill, before opening the door.

The room was dark but even with the softly crackling fire the room was relatively cold, as though the fire had not been lit that long.

Grace lied asleep in her bed underneath multiple blankets. Dark lashes rested against pale cheeks as she slept almost peacefully–save from the obvious fever.

Emma sat on the floor next to her bed, one arm folded underneath her as a pillow, the other holding Grace's hand. Her hair fell over her back in messy curls as though she had not brushed it in a while. A blanket laid half over her lap and half on the floor, she must have had it wrapped around her but as she slept it slipped off her.

She looked up tiredly at the sound of the door closing and wiped the exhaustion from her eyes, to no avail. She looked like she had not slept properly in a few days.

"She is sleeping," She spoke up in a soft, coarse whisper. "Her heart is steady but she is still burning up. She has clear moments, but mostly the fever leaves her delirious. Please do not send me away, Milord."

"I will not," He promised, sitting down next to her on the floor. "Has a doctor come yet?"

"Yes, Milord, but there was nothing he could do. He said that if she made it through the night, things would look more hopeful... That was three days ago." Killian sighed, brushing his cold hand over Grace's burning forehead. "Do you pray, Milord?"

He chuckled emptily as he looked at his daughter, his heart felt heavy as though someone was tugging at it and pushing it down at the same time. "No, I do not. Do you?"

"No," Emma answered softly, watching him with tired eyes. She did not look like the hopeful young woman he left behind two weeks ago. She looked like someone who was only steps away from tumbling down a giant hole. The darkness around her eyes, fallen cheeks, and dry lips made her look nearly as ill as Grace, and it terrified him only more.

"When was the last time you slept, Miss Emma?"

"I do not..." She sighed, forcing herself to keep her eyes open. "I cannot leave her alone, if something happens –"

"I am here now, you can sleep."

"You said you would not send me away!" Emma almost hissed her words at him. Tired and scared she may be, she was still fierce as always.

"Then sleep here," He offered. "I should go to the bathroom first, however."

"Of course," Emma replied.

Killian took a final look at Grace before leaving the room without closing the door behind him. He did not truly need to use the bathroom, he needed a moment to gather his thoughts, to make sure he did not fall apart in front of his servant.

He leant his head against the wall, he would have to go in the room again, but to watch Grace lie there, reminded him of his Milah. It reminded him of watching helplessly as she lay on the bed and the fever became too much before pulling her away from him forever.

He could not go through it again, he could not lose his Gracie too. There was no way he could bare it. No amount of liquor could help him drown out the sorrows then.

"Mommy?" Grace's sleepy voice sounded in the room behind him. She was on the verge of being awake, but the fever was still clearly present.

In all her years, he had never heard Grace say mommy before and it felt like someone had taken a sword and ran him through, leaving him to bleed out on the floor.

Emma's voice came in the form of a soothing whisper, a caress across his jaw. "No darling, it is me. Emma."

Killian swallowed thickly and stepped out in the doorway. Emma sat with her back towards him, and with Grace's eyes still closed he was given another moment to pull himself together.

"Mommy, please do not leave me." Emma's sigh sounded as though her throat had been squeezed shut, he watched her from his spot by the doorway, unable to move, as she reached over to the little tin of water on the nightstand and wrung out a piece of cloth. "Mommy?" Grace cried out in panic as no response came.

A soft sob escaped Emma; she felt as helpless as he did.

"I am here," She lulled and brushed the cloth over Grace's forehead.

"Alright." Grace eased into her touch, and it felt like another harsh tug at his heart.

"What are you doing? You are not her mother!" Killian spat at her as he finally stepped forward into the room. Emma flinched and rose to her feet at the sound of his voice.

"No, Milord, but she is delirious," She explained calmly, but her appearance was everything but composed. She stood in front of him; her hands shaking, her lips trembling–with anger or fear, he did not know. "She does not remember me, or she thinks I am her mother."

"That does not give you the right to respond to _mother_!"

"Well," She started promptly, her voice firm, and that was the moment he realised he'd pushed her too far. "Perhaps if you talked to her about her mother once in a while she would not be calling me that now!" Emma yelled the last words at him.

A silence fell, giving them both time to realise what just happened. She brought her hand to her neck and averted her eyes.

"I am sorry," She whispered quickly, confounded by her outburst. But he could not hear it.

"Get out," He hissed in response.

"But –"

"I said get out!" He raised his voice. She walked outside the room but not without a curtsy first–though her curtsy was a less than proper one. If she had been a lesser person she would have told him to bugger off, but her curtsy was a bigger smack in the face.

The door closed softly behind her with a soft thud. He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned, suppressing the desire to yell, to let his fears push him into falling apart.

"Father?" Grace's voice brought him back to himself.

"Yes, Gracie?" He answered, sitting down onto the bed next to her. Her forehead was still warm, but she did not appear as feverish as a moment ago. She struggled to open her eyes but they fell shut almost immediately as though her eyelids were too heavy for her to keep open. "What is it, darling?"

"Why are you yelling at Emma?"

"Because –"

"Please do not be angry with her," She spoke, not even leaving room for him to explain himself. He remained silent. He knew his anger was not with Emma, but at the helplessness he felt. "Where is Emma?"

"I do not know."

"Will you fetch her?" She asked weakly.

"Yes," Killian promised, pressing a soft kiss against her hair. "I will be back in a moment." He was almost reluctant to leave her alone, but when he stepped out in the hallway, seeing Ruby with two cups of tea, he felt relieved that he could ask her to stay with Grace while he searched for Emma.

He found her standing by the lake, under the willow where she and Grace often sat to read. She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, shielding herself from the cold evening wind.

"Miss Emma?" Her shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. "Please, come back inside, I am sorry, I should not have yelled at you." He cleared his throat. "If anything, it was unreasonable of me to yell at you for such a thing because I know like none other the things someone suffering a fever can say." She tensed even further, her fingers pressing deep in the skin of her bare arms. He came to stand next to her. Tears rolled over her pale cheeks as she kept her gaze firmly ahead of her. Her jaw was set tightly, yet trembled.

"I am scared," He whispered, his voice breaking. "She is all I have."

She jerked her head at him, her glare ice cold. "You think I am not scared?" She hissed.

"She is _my_ daughter," He said as if that explained it all.

"You do not believe that I could love her, do you?"

"What?"

"You dismiss me, and my love for her because you think it is impossible for a woman to love a child that is not hers." She cleared her throat slightly and shuddered. Her lips started turning blue, the cold wind blowing over her cheeks had left her face even paler, red streaks where her tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Come back inside, Miss Emma, please," He whispered again, at this point he would probably start begging if she denied him again, kneel down before her if that was what it would take for her to come back inside.

Emma pressed her eyes shut, more tears rolled over her cheeks before she opened them. "Have you left Grace alone?"

"No, Ruby is with her, though I am certain she would prefer you." He held out his hand, but she refused his offer. She kept her arms wrapped around herself as she walked and he wondered just how quickly she would push him aside if he wrapped his arms around her to try and warm her up. He decided that he did not want to find out, they would be inside and sitting in front of the fire soon enough.

She walked out in front of him in a stubborn silence, because she was cold, or because she was angry, he did not know. But she had every reason to be. He had treated her unfairly, and unjustly yelled at her.

He watched her as she knelt before Grace, his daughter sighed into the touch of Emma's cold hands, no doubt a relief from the fever. Ruby pointed him to the tea she had set on the desk and reminded him to call for her if they needed anything before leaving the room.

"Mommy?" Grace's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"No Gracie, it is me, Emma," She spoke soothing words, and as they had before, they calmed even him. Killian laid a blanket around Emma's shoulder–to his surprise she did not protest, though she did not exactly acknowledge it either, her attention focused on Grace.

"Is father home yet?"

"Yes sweetheart, you have seen him earlier, do you not remember?"

"I don't know," Grace mumbled, she sounded frustrated and delirious at the same time.

"It is all right Gracie, I am here," Killian stepped forward, kneeling down next to Emma and taking Grace's hand in his.

"Don't be mad at Emma, it is not her fault," Grace coughed.

"I know it is not, darling, I am not angry with her."

"You yelled at her."

"Yes, and I am sorry for it," He looked shamefully at Emma, but she simply smiled at him; she had already forgiven him for it even when she had every reason to be angry with him.

Grace hummed approvingly and quickly fell back asleep. He convinced Emma to sleep for a few hours as well, for he knew she would pass out from exhaustion eventually anyway. She agreed, if not reluctantly, and laid down on the rug before the fire, tucking herself in the blanket he'd given her.

He added several logs to the fire in the hours that passed slowly after she fell asleep, the clock on Grace's nightstand seemed to tick mockingly slow. He tried reading a book but could not find the will to focus on it. He often felt Grace's forehead; she never really woke, but sometimes she would smile in her sleep and it made him hopeful.

Emma woke a little after four, sleepily walking out of the room without a single word and coming back a little later to sit down next to him.

"You should sleep, Milord," Emma mumbled, opening the drawer of Grace's nightstand and picking out a book.

"I eh..." He looked at Grace with worry.

"You are tired, Milord, I will watch over her and wake you if something is wrong. Sleep some," she urged with a gentle voice.

It was not that he did not trust her, he did–which was a new sensation to him–it was that he too, like her, did not like to be sent away from Grace, and would prefer to remain in his daughter's room. He rose to his feet and went to a nearby his room across the hall, pulling all blankets and pillows from the bed and carrying it to Grace's room.

Emma sat with her back against Grace's bed, the book already open in her lap. When she looked up at him as he walked into the room again he offered her one of his pillows, which she took with a grateful smile and stuffed behind her back.

Killian added two more blocks of wood into the fire and placed his own pillow on the rug before the fire and laid down, his face towards Grace's bed. Emma had already started reading again, though he was not entirely sure if her attention was devoted to the book.

"What are you reading?" Killian asked softly.

"Um," She looked at the cover as if she was not exactly what she was reading either. "Cinderella, Milord."

"Can you read it to me?" He asked tiredly, she gave him a smile and flipped back a few pages before starting to read. Her voice was calm and soft, and it easily carried him to sleep.

He woke up to a small body slightly pressing into him, tugging the blankets. Still half asleep, he wrapped his arm around her, and adjusting himself to fall back asleep.

"Emma?" He heard the whisper before sleep could lay claim to him.

A tired hum answered.

"Can you lie closer, I am cold."

Another hum, followed by some shuffling.

In all honesty, he wanted to look up, force his eyes open, but he was tired, he felt like he had barely slept an hour. And when he heard Grace's voice–especially saying she was cold, which meant her fever was over–his worry released its tight grip on him and he fell back into a deep slumber.

The next time he woke up was to a female laugh, not Emma's, Ruby's maybe as it definitely wasn't Grace's. It was colder than it had been before, the fire must have burnt out behind him, though there was still the matter of the small body–he reasoned it would be Grace's, for while Emma had bold moments, she would not lie down next to him–pressed up against him, sharing body warmth. But he did hear two people breathing. He forced his eyes open.

While she did not lie against him, Emma did lie rather close to him, in fact, the distance between them could be measured by one small child curled up between them. He could not help but stare at her in awe, she looked a lot more at ease, calmly breathing in her sleep.

An overwhelming desire to touch her skin overcame him, the need to touch her cheeks, brush his fingers over her lips, to know what they felt like without kissing her.

But there was still the matter of the female laugh, he remembered. Killian popped himself up on his elbow and looked around the room.

"Good morning," Ruby grinned as he locked eyes with her, she'd brought breakfast for them and had set it down on the dresser. "How is Grace?"

"Better I believe," He hummed, laying his hand against Grace's relatively cool forehead. "Her fever is gone."

Emma's lashes fluttered like she was forcing herself to wake up. Her green eyes met his, lighting up slightly as she smiled at him.

"Shall I bring some food for her too?" Ruby asked, walking over to the door again.

"Something light maybe, I am not too sure she will be able to keep it down already."

"I will be back in a moment," Ruby said with a smile, closing the door behind her.

"Morning," He smiled at Emma who was still slowly waking up.

"Morning," She yawned, quickly bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, giving him a shy smile. Emma looked down at Grace with a frown. "I know you are awake." She brushed a few dark locks from Grace's face, whose smile broke through at Emma's touch.

"How?" Grace asked tiredly, though clearly feeling better.

"It is a secret," Emma replied. "How are you feeling Gracie?"

"Better," She answered, stretching out.

"That's good, did you sleep well?"

"No, the floor is hard," Grace pouted.

Killian chuckled. "No one said you needed to come lie..." He trailed off, hesitating momentarily before continuing, "Between us." He glanced at Emma who looked ready to give him an explanation but he brushed it off with a shake of his head. His daughter was feeling much better and truthfully he did not care much for anything else right now.

Though her fever was nearly gone, Grace spent most of her time in bed that day with Emma sitting next to her and reading to her. Killian had taken his files from his office and brought them to the desk in Grace's room where he sat working most of the morning. Though, working was not quite what kept him busy. He was more distracted by Emma's voice as she read, remembering how she had read to him last night. How her voice carried him into a peaceful sleep. And how he woke up again with the first thing he saw was her captivating face. How he wanted to touch her, to know what she felt like underneath his fingertips, to know what her lips–

He shook his head in a poor attempt to banish the thoughts from his head. She was a servant for God's sake, what the hell was wrong with him. He rose from his chair quickly, the loud noise from the chair scraping on the parquet startled both girls on the bed.

"I apologise," He muttered without looking at them and hastily walked out of the room.

Killian sighed, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes briefly.

Perhaps William was right, perhaps it was time for him to take on a new wife. He found that the fact that he looked at Emma this way was confirmation that his heart, although broken and fragile, longed to be loved again. And his body longed to be touched again.

But it could not be in the form of his servant, he would not allow it.

"I am sorry I called you mommy, Emma," Grace's voice sounded.

"It is fine, Gracie," Emma replied. "Do not worry about it."

There was a silence but Emma did not continue reading either, and Killian knew more was coming.

"Can you miss someone without ever even knowing them?" Grace questioned.

"Yes." Emma answered. "You know, I never knew my parents either."

"No?"

"I was raised in the orphanage," Emma explained, "I do not even know their names."

"I just wish he would talk to me about her."

"He is a heartbroken man, Gracie. Time will heal the wound, but the scar will remain. Perhaps he is simply not ready to talk about her." He loathed to admit it, but she described how he felt almost perfectly. How could this woman, who was still so young, understand the pain he had gone through and understand him better than he did himself? How could she read him so well without him ever saying a word of how he felt?

"When will he be?" Grace asked silently, followed by a yawn.

"It might take a while, still," Emma said. "Or maybe when he has a new wife his heart will have healed enough to talk about her."

"Do you think he wants a new wife?"

"I do not know." The bed creaked softly as Emma spoke. "One day perhaps. What I do know is that you are tired, and that it might do you good to take a nap."

It came to a surprise to him when Grace immediately agreed to Emma's proposition. He hurried downstairs, making sure Emma would not realise that he had been listening in on their conversation.

Emma appeared at the top of the staircase when he was still in the foyer. He panicked and picked up his coat from the coat rack and turned back to face her.

"I would like to take a walk," He stated when she walked down the stairs with the files he had left on Grace's desk hugged to her chest.

"Good," Emma answered, with the arch of her eyebrow. "Be careful."

"I eh," He reached behind his ear as he cleared his throat. "I wondered if perhaps you would like to join me?"

"I would prefer to watch over Grace."

"Ruby can do that. Grace will be asleep, so there is not much you can do right now."

He closed his eyes with a deep breath as he realised he betrayed himself. Emma stifled a giggle as she understood.

"Let me put away your files, then I shall join you."

Their walk was in silence but not as comfortable as it usually was, there was a tension between them, many things had been said and done in the past sixteen hours, many of them deserved either an explanation or another apology.

He walked by her side with his hands in his pockets, trying to refrain from scratching behind his ear. It was his tell–tale, but certainly Emma knew he was nervous and uncomfortable without him making the gesture. She always knew.

"I overheard you talking with my daughter earlier," He finally broke the silence.

"Sorry," She mumbled. "It was not my place."

"You've nothing to apologise for. In fact, I believe you are right."

She frowned up at him. "I do not understand."

"I do think it is time for me to take on a new wife. I wondered what your opinion was."

"You are asking for _my_ opinion?"

"You are part of the household," He explained, but one look at her showed she knew that his explanation was a rubbish one. Truthfully, he did not really know why he asked her. Perhaps he was indirectly asking it for Grace, or perhaps he simply wanted to be the kind of Lord that valued his servants' opinion.

"I believe now would be a good time, yes." Emma agreed. "Grace is old enough to understand your new wife is not her mother but young enough so that her presence influences who she will grow up to be."

Killian sighed and stopped walking. He stared at a point behind her and realised they were in the same place she had stopped him once to pick apples for Ruby.

The memory of standing close enough to her to breathe her in was quickly pushed away.

"I am aware I cannot do this on my own. She needs a mother."

"No, Milord, she needs loving parents," Emma said, bringing his attention back to her. "And you are not alone, you have me."

Killian nodded, he was grateful to have her as his daughter's nanny, even if he did not convey it in the best way. They continued their walk once more, but something in Emma's features made it very apparent she was not quite done talking about the subject.

"Have you anything else to say, Miss Emma?"

"No," She said promptly. An obvious lie.

"Hm," He hummed briefly, almost like a scoff. "That would be a first then, would it not?" It was meant as a tease, but it came out far more crude than expected.

"It is simply... It is not my place to say."

He laughed softly. "When has that ever stopped you from saying something? Speak up, Miss Emma, I won't be angry."

"As you know, I do not know my parents. I would give anything to know who they were. Unfortunately, I don't have anyone who I can ask. She does."

As always, her words gave him food for thought. Her words kept him busy throughout the rest of their walk, during dinner, even as he sat at his desk bent over a stack of paperwork.

When the time came for Grace's bedtime, he still had not made up his mind. He knew it was unfair towards Grace, but he had always been a selfish man, and protecting his heart from any pain was more important.

Though as he tucked Grace in bed together with Emma, he knew that one day he would have to break that tradition, but he was not quite ready for it at this time.

He waited out in the hallway after saying goodnight to Grace. He did not have to wait for Emma, but for some reason he almost felt compelled to do so. They had spent nearly the entire day together, to turn away from her now without saying a word felt improper.

"I love you," Grace spoke softly.

"I love you too, Gracie," Emma answered, followed by a short kissing noise. He could easily imagine Emma kissing his daughter's forehead and the way they both closed their eyes as she did so. The smile that followed.

He sighed and closed his eyes as he let their words sink in. Out of all the things that were said today, this hurt him most; the realisation that he had never told his daughter that he loved her. Grace nearly died and she had never heard him say those words.

"There is something else," Grace whispered.

"What is it?"

"I am grateful for you," Grace started, letting a short moment of silence fall. "I am grateful for what you have done for father."

"What have I done, Gracie?" Emma asked when nothing more followed.

"I believe he is happier. He smiles a lot more since you came here–and he spends more time with me."

"Your father loves you, Grace." Emma's answer came quickly, but the silence that followed hurt him deeply.

"Ruby once said that he could not look at me because I looked so much like my mother. Since you came, things have changed. So I am grateful for you."

Emma bid Grace goodnight–after speaking a few words that he could not quite hear–and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. She had a small, uncertain smile on her lips as if she was calculating the odds of him having heard every word that was spoken. That for the second time today, he had eavesdropped on their conversation without meaning to.

He took a quick and impulsive decision then.

"Follow me?" He asked softly. Emma nodded, tugging her shawl a little tighter around herself. He guided her to one of the few rooms in the back of the hallway; the ones that he kept locked at all times. She had asked him about them once, but he had not provided her with an answer at the time, deciding not to sate her unwanted curiosity.

Killian took his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. A musty scent overwhelmed him, it was not surprising; this room had not been opened in years. The strange scent and lack of oxygen were a violent attack on his lungs, and behind him Emma coughed softly. He opened the creaking window, allowing moonlight inside and oxygen to cleanse the room and the musty smell made place for the clean scent of the night.

He lit two candles he had taken from the walls and handed her one, gesturing for her to look around. He, himself, could scarcely look around. He bit down harshly into his lip to–quite literally–bite the tears back until a metallic taste touched his tongue, and the tears came anyway.

The room was filled with a fair amount of paintings, all of varying sizes. But always of the same two people. Him. And Milah.

"Is that her?" Emma asked, holding her candle closer to a painting and looking at it with wonder.

"Yes." The sound barely made it over his lips.

"Grace looks a lot like her," She noted. He watched her as she ran a gentle finger over the canvas, only to be met by a thick layer of dust. She wiped her hand on her skirt and looked up at him.

"She does," Killian agreed. "I heard her talk to you. I know I must have hurt her, and it was not fair of me to put her through that. But Ruby was right. I could not look at my daughter because she looked so much like my Milah." He brought his hand to his face and wiped away some tears.

He took a deep breath. "After she died, I took down every painting and stored it in here. I could not look at her face, it hurt too much. To have a small version of her run around the house, each day looking more and more like her, some would call it a blessing, but it was a torment to me. I felt like she was sent to torture me. I wondered often enough, why Grace made it out and not my wife. How was I supposed to love the thing that killed my wife? But did I love her, so much, and it killed me. I hated myself for loving her."

Killian did not bother to hide his tears at this point, his body felt heavy and his heart pounded firmly in his chest, it hurt with every breath he took.

"I was so wrong, I do not know how she will ever forgive me, but I would understand if she does not, truthfully I do not deserve her forgiveness. I have hurt her over and over again. Grace is truly a blessing, I see that now." He frowned at her then and shook his head. "But what I do not understand is why I needed you to see that."

"I have done nothing special," Emma said and shrugged.

"But you have," He assured her. "For some reason, yet unbeknownst to me, you have. But I will figure it out, eventually."

Emma turned around once more, taking another look at the paintings, her eyes fell on the painting of their wedding day. Milah had been a gorgeous bride, dressed in white, and he was her happy husband, holding her lovingly in his arms.

"I need advice, Miss Emma," He spoke as he stepped closer and looked away from the painting.

"With what?" Emma asked softly.

"I do not know what to do. I have not been in here since I locked the door behind me, seven years ago. But talking about her, looking at her, it made my heart ache, but I needed it..." He trailed off softly as she laughed through her sniffing and turned around to face him. He arched an eyebrow at her, wordlessly asking her to explain herself.

"Of course you needed it. Yes, it hurts, of course it does; you loved her, you still do. That is normal. But you know what helps ease the pain? To talk about it. Share her memory. You want my advice? Hang the paintings back, perhaps not all of them just yet, start with one, maybe two. Talk to Grace about her mother, tell her all the little things, did she like cake? What was her favourite place in the house? What about reading, did she enjoy that? Not only are you depriving yourself of healing, but you are depriving your daughter of having a mother."

Mr Jones smiled through his tears. "When I hired you, I told you to work on your nosy attitude, I am happy you did not. Though, I must admit to worrying about hanging the paintings up again, should I bring a woman to meet Grace –"

"She will have understand that Lady Milah is a part of you that no one should erase. You have Grace to prove that."

The door creaked slightly, catching both their attention. Grace stood with tired eyes, her arm wrapped around Maximus' neck, her other hand formed into a fist and rubbing her tired eyes.

"Gracie, what are you doing out of bed darling?" Emma pushed her candle into his hand and knelt in front of Grace, brushing her hair from her face.

"I did not have any warm milk tonight," She pouted.

"I know sweetheart, but it was a bit of an odd day."

"Please? I will go to bed immediately after." Grace was truly forcing herself to stay awake now, and this only because she missed part of her evening routine. Surely, like himself, Emma must know that if she forced Grace to go to bed now, she would fall asleep eventually after being simply too exhausted. But like any child, Grace was stubborn and would keep this up for as long as she could.

"Tell you what, I will get you a bit of warm milk and meanwhile your father has something to show you," She raised her eyebrows at Killian. He swallowed thickly, he knew that she was challenging him to push forward rather than take steps back. He was not sure he was ready for this yet, but when Grace walked into the room, wide–eyed, any objection died on his tongue.

He barely noticed Emma walk away as Grace stepped further into the room, standing in front of a grand painting that was as tall as her and stared at it with large eyes, her lips slightly parted. Small fingers reached out to the painting, leaving fingerprints in the dust. Her grip on Maximus loosened and he fell to the ground by her side.

For a moment he could do nothing but stare at his daughter, nailed in his spot and left unable to move. Perhaps that was not such a bad thing; for he could not run away now either.

"Mommy?" Grace asked tiredly, tilting her head, then looking up at him.

"Yes," Killian answered and cleared his throat as he set both candles on the windowsill. They were quickly blown out, but the moonlight pouring through the window left the room just lit enough.

Grace nodded and turned around to face him. The smile Grace gave him pushed away all the darkness that clouded his mind and brought light back into his heart. His short laugh almost sounded like a sob.

His daughter stepped towards him, extending her arms. He picked her up effortlessly and held her tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled closer into his embrace.

It was not the first time he had picked her up, but in some odd way, it felt like it was. His mind was almost clear and his heart did not feel as empty in his chest.

"Miss Emma suggested hanging a painting back, what do you think?"

"Just one?" Grace asked softly, pulling back slightly to look at him.

"For now," Killian answered. Grace smiled and gave him an understanding nod, she reached out and gently brushed the nearly dried up tears away from his cheek.

"I think we should take that one," Grace spoke decidedly, pointing at the painting behind her, the one she had stared at from the moment she walked into the room.

"Yes," He replied, pressing a soft kiss against her temple as she shuffled a bit into his arms to lay her head against his shoulder. "Grace?"

"Yes, father?" She whispered softly, she was almost falling asleep already.

"I love you," He murmured.

"I love you too," Grace smiled.

He rested his cheek against her temple and swung his body gently until she fell asleep in his arms. Holding his daughter until she fell asleep was one of the many things he had missed, but for some unknown reason, she forgave him easily for it. He did not deserve her love, or anyone's love for that matter, but he wanted to make it right, he wanted to fight for the love she deemed him worthy of.

When Emma came back with a cup of steaming hot milk in her hands, Killian still stood with Grace asleep in his arms in front Milah's painting.

"We picked that one out to hang by the fire," He whispered almost proudly.

"Good choice," Emma smiled and stepped beside him, taking a sip of the milk.

"Are you drinking my daughter's warm milk?"

"No," Emma answered as she picked up Maximus from the floor and tucked it underneath Grace's arm–in her sleep, her grip tightened on the bear. Emma gently brushed a dark lock of hair from Grace's face and smiled. "I knew she would not last long enough for me to even hand her the cup. This one is mine. I have made enough for second cup, if you want it."

"I would like that. Let me put my daughter to bed first, shall I meet you in the Grand Salon?"

After he had put Grace in bed, he went back to the room that contained all the paintings–and after a long debate with himself–decided to keep it unlocked. Emma entered the room as he hung Milah's painting by the fireplace. She came to stand behind him as he stepped away from the painting, then gave it one last look to make sure it hung straight before turning around and accepting the mug she offered him.

"Good?" He asked, placing the chair back at the table.

"Perfect," She said genuinely, and sat down onto the rug before the fire. She carefully set the mug down on the floor, and opened the book on her lap.

He sat down next to her, making her look up at him with a frown.

"Read to me?" He asked almost shyly.

"I am already midway the book," Emma said and showed him the bookmarked page for emphasis.

"That is all right," Killian answered, leaning back against the couch, his arm nonchalantly resting on the couch.

Emma nodded once and started reading. He could not quite follow the story, especially not at first, but that was not why he asked her to read. He asked her because it gave him an excuse to hear her talk–and to be with her. To look at her as she read; the way her lips moved, the way they curved into a smile at the funny parts. Or how her lashes almost touched her cheekbones as she laughed. The way her gentle hands held the book with great care, or how her fingers touched the pages with an intriguing tenderness.

Each time the clock announced the passing of another hour they both looked up at each other, both, without a single word, asking each other whether the other wanted to go to bed already, but each time the unspoken confirmation that neither wanted to go yet left Emma reading more of the story.

She read until a little after two, which was when she–slightly reluctantly–finished the book.

He walked with her until they reached the staircase, where he bid her goodnight with a smile and a soft kiss against her knuckles.

* * *

 _ **More notes:**_

 _ **I actually intended to kill off Grace in this chapter, because I am Satan in disguise and I like it when people yell at me for stuff like that, but Miranda said she'd never talk to me again if I did, so you guys have her to thank for that I guess.**_

 _ **I know it was rather angsty, but I promise this was the angstiest chapter and I won't write another one**_ **this** _ **angsty. **I do hope you enjoyed this chap** **ter** **–and the fact that it was from Killian's POV.****_

 ** _Thank you all so much for your love, it means the absolute world to me, I am so grateful for your support!_**


	11. Eleven

_Late May, 1816._

Killian spent most of the following weeks searching for a new wife–though most of his time was spent avoiding women as they, sometimes quite literally, threw themselves at him. Their bodies in far too close proximity for his liking, their hands finding new ways to reach out and touch him as they giggled their way through conversation.

It was almost a relief when he came home after a long day and his servants barely dared looking at him, that they did not flaunt and teased around him as many women did at the social gatherings he attended.

It was a relief when he came home late to a silent house from yet another ball, where women introduced their prettiest daughters, urging for them to dance together and get to know each other better.

One would think finding a wife would not be as hard as it turned out to be. Many young women were still in need of a suitable husband. And Killian had everything to offer; a large house, financial security, his love. And he required only one thing of them in return: for them to accept Grace.

And that was usually where many women took a step back.

They did not want to care for a child that was not their own, or they did not want to be reminded that he once belonged to another woman, or they were simply too young to have a child of this age. They would never say it aloud, of course–they had that decency at least. But as soon as he told them about Grace they became distant and uninterested.

Killian quickly formed the habit of telling the women about Grace first before making the effort of getting to know them.

He did not meet many women that way, but he found it most fair towards the women–and him.

Though sometimes, a woman would be willing to overlook that he had a child from a previous marriage, and he'd introduce them to Grace. But that is often where it went wrong again.

So one Tuesday afternoon, he stood across her in the Petit Salon, a woman with short blonde locks that were tightly braided towards the back of her head, and dark blue eyes. He was not quite certain about this one, but something about her made Killian hopeful. She fiddled with her pale green gown as she avoided his stare at all costs. She was clearly nervous and truthfully, it amused him. Perhaps it was her nervous behaviour that made him so hopeful; she _wanted_ to make a good impression with Grace.

She was tall and slender, and a mere two years younger than he was. Katherine, her name was, as she kept reminding him, each time again with a patient and kind smile. He did not know why he found her name so hard to remember.

She had an attractive face; her eyes captivated you as soon as you saw her. Her smile was bright and genuine. Her nose perhaps a bit too large. The sun had scarcely touched her porcelain skin; coming from a rich family, she had never had worked a day in her life–her mother made certain to tell him so.

And as soon as her mother left them alone–of course not completely, that would be inappropriate. But in a way the number of times he caught her mother stare at them from across the room made him far more uncomfortable than had she left them alone–Katherine apologised profoundly for her mother's behaviour and kept doing so throughout the night.

But Katherine's company was a pleasant one. She was a decent dance partner, she had interesting views on the world, she was intelligent and well-read, and often made him smile.

And most importantly, she did not back away from him at the mention of Grace and she was genuinely eager to meet her. Katherine promised to care for his daughter as though she was her own.

She was kind, and pretty, funny and all those things. He found her really quite pleasing.

But she wasn't–

He looked up as the double doors opened and Emma walked in with Grace by her side. Grace's unruly hair had been combed thoroughly and held was held back by a ribbon tied into a big bow at the top of her head. And, as requested by him, she wore one of her neater dresses, though she was clearly uncomfortable with wearing it. Emma wore a soft pink gown that flowed with every step she took and her hair laid over her back in a long braid. They both took a small curtsy for their guest and himself before Grace stepped into the room, Emma remaining by the door.

When he let his gaze fall upon her, she was already looking at him. Something in her eyes made it very clear that she had already made up her mind about Katherine, and the small shake of her head confirmed it.

He frowned, tilting his head. How could she be so certain of her cause when Katherine had not even said a single word. Though, he was inclined to believe her; she had been correct about the last two women he had brought to meet Grace.

Killian averted his gaze back to his daughter and pursed his lips as he watched Katherine kneel down in front of Grace.

"How lovely it is to meet you, Grace. My name is Katherine, but you can call me mommy." She smiled while reaching out for Grace's cheek. Emma coughed dryly from her spot by the door, saving Grace from having her cheek pinched.

"Pardon me," Emma whispered, quickly composing herself. "Would you like some tea, Miss Katherine?" She asked, keeping her voice light though the disturbance that was in Grace's eyes was found in hers as well.

Killian nodded in Katherine's stead. "Yes, tea for the both of us, please. Gracie, why don't you go help Miss Emma with the tea?" Grace gave him a thankful smile and took quick steps towards Emma who extended her hand for her to take. In the hallway–out of view from Katherine, but in his sight–Emma sunk to her knees and pulled Grace into a hug.

"I do not want to call her mommy, Emma," Grace whispered so silently he barely heard it.

"It will be all right, Gracie." Emma closed her eyes and pressed a kiss against her hair. "It will be all right," She mumbled again. She opened her eyes and looked right at him, her eyes were almost pleading. _Make the right choice._ He sighed sadly before pulling the grand doors closed softly.

He'd had such high hopes for Katherine. But the truth was that he was not looking for a replacement for Milah, for Grace's mother. And the only women who appeared to understand that were the ones already in his household.

Killian sent Katherine away not long after that. He thought she understood, until she stepped into her carriage and gazed past him towards where Emma and Grace stood by the door. Grace was giggling and holding tightly to Emma's hand as his daughter walked over the stone balustrade while they waited to wave Katherine goodbye. Something about the scene tugged at his heart, filling him with warmth and desire. Desire for an unbroken family. Moments like these, filled with love and laughter.

Then Katherine smiled at them before whispering words that were only meant for him. "You know, Mr Jones, you are so obsessed with finding a wife that you do not seem to realise that the answer to your troubles appears to have been right under your nose all along." He stared after her as the carriage drove away. He had wanted to ask Katherine what she meant, but deep down, he already knew.

Killian had not quite registered the silencing of Grace's giggles and Emma's laughter until he felt a gentle hand on his bicep. He jerked his head at Emma, meeting her worried eyes.

"Milord?" She asked in a tender whisper. There was a beauty in her features that he felt he'd never seen before. There was gold in her eyes, he noticed. Small, barely visible freckles were dashed across her nose. He could not help himself; he stared at her. Etiquette be damned. And for some odd reason, it felt as though he only now _really_ saw her for the first time. His lips parted involuntarily as his eyes landed on her mouth. "Are you alright?" He watched her lips move as she spoke her soothing question, and then curved into a warm smile.

He had the overwhelming desire to touch her, caress her cheeks, hold her in his embrace, kiss her lips. And so he did the only thing that felt right. He stepped away from her.

"Yes," Killian replied with a single nod. "I am fine." He walked up the stairs, pausing where Grace sat on the balustrade and kissed the top of her head before walking back inside with no destination in mind.

The mansion was quiet, apart from an occasional distant sound in the kitchen or a door opening and closing. He walked aimlessly through the empty halls seemingly for hours until he found himself in the Grand Salon. With the curtains drawn back, the sun had warmed up the large room to a pleasant temperature. And in the rays pouring through the windows, he saw specks of dust floating through the air.

It was an almost odd sensation, as he had not felt like this for a long while, but he felt almost calm. Even if his mind wandered as it often did. He had to leave for yet another trip in two days. And he still needed a wife. It was necessary, for Grace. She needed a mother. And perhaps his heart started to long for love again.

Killian caught sight of her blonde locks while pacing through the room. He stopped in his tracks, taking two steps back so he could have a better look through the window. Emma sat in the shadow underneath the big willow by the lake, with her nose in a book. He knew she'd been fond of reading, the first time she was in his office, she saw her eyes light up at the sight of his personal collection of books.

He'd seen her numerous times in the mansion's library after she'd put Grace to bed. Or sitting in front of the fire, so captivated by her book that she had not even heard him enter the room. He enjoyed the times he was bold enough to ask her to read for him, and she did so without hesitation and a warm smile. He brought her books from his travels. He'd caught her reading often enough to know she loved reading, that's not something he needed to be told.

She still wore her soft pink coloured dress, its luscious linen pooled around her on the plaid blanket. Her long blonde hair still tied back in a braid, but as the day passed some strands had come loose, framing her face. The wind brushed the loose locks over her pink cheeks though she did not tuck them behind her ear, probably too engrossed in her book to even notice the tickle.

The way she looked while sitting there, she did not look like she came from this world. No, Emma looked like she had stepped straight from one of those paintings that pretentious old men would pay an obscene amount of coin for.

Emma's kindness radiated from her as she looked up to see Grace standing in front of her. His daughter took the red ribbon from her hair and held it out to Emma, who in turn grinned, laid down her book next to her as Grace sat down in front of her, and braided her hair, tying it off with the ribbon. As he watched the scene before him, he realised Grace wore a dress in the same colour as Emma's–though it was a dress he did not recall buying for her. Killian marvelled at that, he brought home dresses for his little girl often enough to know that pink was not her favourite colour to wear.

When he watched his daughter sit down next to Emma, it hit him that he had no idea to what extend his daughter's devotion to this woman went until he noticed that her behaviour mimicked Emma's completely.

The braid, the dress, down to the way she sat: legs folded underneath her, making sure the lower part of her dress was fanned out around her completely. A straightened back and a certain elegance in the way she held her book.

Which was another thing that baffled him.

His daughter had trouble reading, there was no way she would willingly pick up a book by herself. But there she sat anyway. Reading.

"Beautiful, no?" Ruby's voice startled him.

"I'm sorry?"

"The girls," Ruby explained. "They are beautiful. It is a beautiful sight."

"I..." He stammered, clearing his throat. "Yes," Killian decided then. There was no point in denying it. He was no longer a blind man; they were beautiful, both of them. And it was indeed a beautiful sight. The willow tree bloomed pink, the sun stood high in the blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Sunlight reflected on the soft waves of the blue lake behind them, shimmering in gorgeous patterns. The grass had been well–taken care off this winter by their new gardener and was now a spring green field, here and there a wildflower, barely a dead patch of grass in sight. "However, I seem to recall Tuesday being Miss Emma's day off?"

"You truly do not realise that spending time with Grace is the furthest thing from working for her? She adores your daughter, as does your daughter adore her. I believe that since she started working here, she only spend one or two of her free days without Grace." Killian shook his head, where was he ever going to find a wife that was as good with Grace as Miss Emma was? "You have so many troubles, Killian. Perhaps it would do you good to set your worries aside for one day and join them?" Ruby suggested. "You know you could use a pause."

"I would not want to impose," He offered as an excuse.

"I doubt you will," Ruby patted his shoulder twice and left him alone with his thoughts once more.

Eventually he decided that perhaps it would not be such a bad time to spend some more time with his daughter before he left. Again. He passed by the library and picked out a book he was certain he had not yet read, before continuing outside. The air smelled clean, the sun shining warm rays of sunlight onto his skin. The only sounds he heard were those of the birds that chirped every now and then and the wind gusts sometimes rustling through the trees leaving them to make a sound that resembled the waves of the ocean coming ashore.

"What's this word?" Grace's voice became clearer as he walked closer, she held the book so Emma could see, pointing her finger at the word.

"Assistance," Emma answered gently.

"Assistance," Grace repeated carefully, trying out the word whilst looking at her in her book. "Alright." She said and looked up to greet her father with a bright smile. When Emma saw him, she smacked her book closed and readied herself to get up.

"No, no, sit– please," He quickly said before she could rise.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Emma asked from her position on the ground, her book on her lap, hands gently folded over the cover.

"It is your day off, Miss Emma."

"Still." She shrugged lightly. "You are my employer, should you need anything..."

"I merely wondered if I would be allowed to join the both of you. I have not picked up a book to read in a long while."

"Of course," Emma smiled brightly. Killian sat down across her, next to Grace. Opening his book without another word. With the sounds of the lake, the birds and the turning of the pages, they read mostly in silence, Grace would sometimes ask Emma if she was unable to read a word or giggle as she came across something funny.

It felt as though hours had passed when Emma closed her book and broke the silence with her softly spoken words as she rose to her feet. "Please excuse me." He looked up at her with and nodded, looking after her as she walked away from them.

"Father?" Grace whispered once Emma was out of hearing distance. Her small fingers tracing over the pattern of the blanket.

"Yes, darling?" He replied as he tore his gaze away from Emma.

"Do you like her?" She questioned softly without looking at him. Even if she avoided his eyes, her own were filled with mischief. It was clear as day that she was up to something, perhaps she intended to trap him, ask so many questions that in the end, he would accidentally confess or admit to something. His Gracie was a clever one, if they let women be lawyers, she would be an excellent one.

With Grace conversations often resembled a chess game; she would ask you innocent questions, but in the end, you realise it was exactly her innocence that had you fooled and she had her questions well thought-out and played you until you had to forfeit.

It was for this reason she had a horse and took ballet classes. Even if his initial answer had been no.

Though her first move was but a pawn, this was always how it started. He cleared his throat, giving himself a small moment to overthink his answer. Saying 'yes' was not an option. Not now, not ever. Saying 'who' would be ridiculous; they both knew she meant Emma, right? Surely, flat out denying it would be the safest answer?

"No." He shook his head once.

"You do not even know who I am talking about," Grace frowned at him.

A bishop.

It was a trap. He knew it. And still. He forfeited his Queen.

"Miss Emma," He answered carefully.

She smiled, and he knew; she had already won the game.

"Have you not met with other women lately? I did not even mention her. Yet, when I asked, your thoughts immediately went to Emma?"

Check and mate.

He watched Grace sit up straighter and turn her attention back to her book, though her smile was a smug one. When would he learn from his mistakes? She had played him. Checkmate in only two moves.

Emma joined them once more, sitting back in her previous spot. But before she properly sat down and opened her book again, Grace uttered a complaining sigh.

"Can we take a break, Emma?" She asked, though without waiting for a response she had already tossed the book on the blanket and risen to her feet.

Emma smiled, taking her bookmark and placing it between the papers with her gentle hands, then shutting her book. "Of course we can."

"Can we go on the swing?" Grace's voice sounded further away now, but he could not bring himself to look away from Emma, who hummed in response and looked at Killian, her green eyes vibrant in the low–hanging sun. Her lips looked soft and he heard them call out for him, inviting him to kiss her. And then she licked them, as if she knew he was watching, but looking at her eyes there was only innocence. She was maddening him and she did not even realise it.

"Perhaps your father would like to join us?" Emma suggested.

"Oh! Yes, father, please _do_ join us," Grace said excitedly, already running back over towards him to tug at his hand.

"Of course, darling," He smiled at his daughter and got up. He offered his hands to Emma and she took it without hesitation. Her hands were cold but soft and they held on tightly as he helped her to her feet. "Are you getting chilly, Miss Emma?" He asked, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles almost absentmindedly. Almost.

"I am fine," She replied. "Thank you for your concern, Milord." Killian nodded once as he released her hands. He picked up the books as Emma picked up the blanket and bunched it up against her chest, then followed her and his daughter through the garden towards the swing by the tree. While the passing time had made it so that their spot in the shadow under the willow slowly became a spot in the pleasantly warm, late–afternoon sun, it had also covered the tree that held the swing in a chilly shadow.

"Gracie are you not too cold?" Emma asked watching his daughter intently as she crawled up on the swing, and tossed the blanket on the ground against the tree.

"I am fine Emma, will you push me, please?"

"Of course."

As he sat down against the tree, watching them and listening to their laughter from the sideline Killian realised he had never truly heard Emma laugh before, not as freely as she was laughing now at least. He caught himself watching her and his daughter with a marvelling smile, a strange sense of contentment overcoming him. He'd known for a while that Emma was good with his daughter, perhaps even better than Miss Charlotte had been, but to see her interacting with Grace only confirmed it even more. Seeing the both of them happy and carefree like that, it almost made him forget his own troubles.

"Your turn," Grace said after a long moment filled with laughter and his daughter's shrieks of excitement. "Perhaps father can push you," She smiled widely.

"'Tis fine Grace, I can do it myself," Emma objected.

"I know, but it's much more fun if someone pushes you," Grace looked up at him expectantly.

He blinked rapidly, his mouth opening to object, but truthfully he had never really been good at denying his daughter the things she asked for.

Emma took place on the swing, waiting for him to come over, even if she was clearly capable of managing on her own. It appeared Emma had fallen for his daughter's charms just as he did, being rendered unable to deny her anything. He walked over towards her, brushing her arm as he passed by.

"Are you certain you are not cold, Miss Emma?" He asked, noticing the goosebumps on her arms.

"Perhaps a little," She admitted softly. Killian took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders before she could refuse. He knew her well enough to know she would rather freeze than accept anything he offered. "Thank you," Emma muttered stubbornly, only confirming that she would have denied his help if offered the choice.

As he pushed her gently on the swing, his memory flashed back to a time where he did this with Milah; a warm summer night when they had spent an entire day swimming in the lake, picnicking under the willow and drunkenly spent hours on the swing until it started pouring rain. They'd made love all night, lazily, passionately, falling asleep for a few hours until one of them woke the other up and they'd make love again.

It was a memory he'd almost forgotten and he was not quite sure if he was happy to have it back. Emma put a stop to the swing, looking back at him over her shoulder. "Is everything all right, Milord?"

He looked up to see if Grace was watching, only to panic slightly as he saw she was gone.

"Where is Grace?"

"She went inside to ask what we will be eating and if we will be eating soon, she was hungry. I told her to go ahead, that we would follow soon. You seemed a little lost in thoughts."

"Yes," Killian mumbled. "I am sorry."

"I am certain there is nothing to apologise for, Milord," Emma smiled and got off the swing, brushing over her gown to smoothen the fabric. "After all, my time on the swing is only for Grace's pleasure, not mine."

Killian chuckled and gestured back to the mansion, "Shall we go inside as well?"

Emma nodded, picking up the books and the blanket from the ground. His coat still hung over her shoulders and he knew that if it was truly unwelcome she would have returned it already by now. But it was indeed rather chilly in the shadows of the trees.

They stood a little lost in the foyer, though between stolen glances and warm smiles neither of them spoke. It should have been uncomfortable, but it was not. Over the course of the months she had lived in his household, they had gone from being unable to stand the other person's presence to tolerating the other person's presence to having learnt to simply be in each other's presence. And it was pleasing and enjoyable.

Yet, the thought that he could see her as anything more than his daughter's nanny frightened him.

"Father!" Grace came running from the kitchen, Ruby following closely arching an eyebrow at them. He would warn her to mind her tongue, but something in her eyes made it clear she wasn't going to comment, though her grin said enough already. "Can we have dinner together?"

He hesitated for a moment, Grace often enough asked him to have dinner together, he had almost always denied her, knowing the servants would be much better company, he could still count the days they'd had dinner together on one hand, but today definitely had been a day of change.

He felt Emma shift next to him–they stood that close next to each other, but neither of them seemed to be wanting to take a step aside, not even with Grace and Ruby watching them. Killian looked down on her, she had a small, encouraging smile on her lips, urging him to say yes. Her nose and cheeks were slightly redder than they had been before, from the cold or because she had sat in the sun for too long, he could not tell.

He nodded, "Alright."

"Can Emma join us?" Grace tried, clearly taking advantage of this new door that had opened.

"If she wishes to," He spoke softly. He did not want to seem overeager, but part of him wanted to have dinner with her as though spending all day in her presence was not enough, he wanted to have this too.

"I would love to," Emma said genuinely.

"Well, dinner is almost ready," Ruby informed them with a smirk, her hands on Grace's shoulders who in turn grinned up at her in an almost conspiring manner. "So please make for the dining room."

Killian shared a glance with Emma as Grace and Ruby retreated back into the kitchen.

"Do you suppose she is up to something?" He questioned with a raised eyebrows.

"It is Grace and Ruby, Milord, naturally they are up to something. Gracie probably talked them into making her favourite meal or making extra dessert," Emma chuckled. "Your coat?" She turned with her back towards him, her arms still wrapped around the three books.

"Right," He said as he took the vest off her shoulders, taking care not to touch her.

"Milord? Are you sure you are all right with me having dinner with you?"

He smiled more so to himself, as he hung his coat by the door. He laid the books on the table by the door and offered her his arm. She seemed surprised by the gesture but took his offer without a word, her delicate fingers wrapping around his arm as she walked beside him. "I am," He said firmly. Emma looked up at him with those stunning eyes of hers. It caught him off guard and nearly made him trip on the stairs. If she noticed at all she chose not to mention it, saving his ego from another bruise.

He opened the door to the dining room for her, allowing her to walk in first. She smiled politely, curtsied, and passed by him into the room only to come to a halt after two steps. When she looked up at him there were traces of panic in her features. Looking behind her revealed a table set for two, if not romantically set. Rose petals between the plates, candles burning, red napkins folded carefully on the plate.

"Oh, you are here already," Ruby walked past them, cleaning the neck of a bottle of wine with a napkin, "Please, have a seat, first course will be here in a moment."

"What are you doing?" Emma hissed.

"Serving dinner?" Ruby answered, smiling faux–innocently. "Which one of you will taste the wine? Though I am afraid there isn't much other choice, I do believe this is a good year," She inspected the bottle with a look that betrayed she was only pretending to know what she was talking about.

"Ruby," Killian warned lowly.

"Oh ease up, it is grape juice, both of you, sit down and enjoy dinner."

Emma looked up at him, unsure of what to do. Truthfully, he was not quite yet certain how he felt either, on one hand, he was angry that this was being forced upon not only him, but Emma too, and that it was highly inappropriate. Though on the other hand, today had been a more or less worry–less day and he was fairly certain it had a lot to do with Emma, so perhaps having dinner with just her was not the worst thing in the world. He gestured for her to sit, shoving the chair back for her.

Once again she had looked at him with surprise, but sat down anyway. Her lips were slightly parted as if she was trying to grasp what was happening, then changed into a small smile as he sat across her.

Ruby poured him a bit of _wine_ for him to taste, then showing him the bottle. It was a wine bottle, but its content was clearly not wine.

"I am sure it shall be fine."

"Shh," She shushed him. "Let me play my part, I practised this."

"And how long did you plan this for, exactly?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

Ruby hummed stubbornly and poured the grape juice in both their glasses, setting the bottle down and leaving without saying another word.

"What is happening?" Emma asked softly, looking at the door as it fell closed.

"I believe we have been caught in one of my daughter's mischievous plans," Killian answered, taking his wine glass.

Emma smiled, taking her own glass as well. "I highly doubt that this was Grace's idea alone."

"Likely," He chuckled, ticking his glass against hers, before taking a sip of the beverage.

Emma drunk her from her glass with a certain elegance, sometimes it was hard to believe she was nothing more than a servant, it was easy to forget she was an orphan. She was clever and smart, well-mannered–if not a little nosy–, though she could be very respectful, and beautiful. The beauty that radiated off her as she looked at him over the rim of her glass, it captivated him. He was so taken in by her he did not even hear the door open, he did not realise they were not alone until she looked away from him, greeting Grace with a smile.

"You tricked us!" Emma said sternly, but a glimmer in her eye betrayed she was teasing Grace.

"Are you angry?"

"No," Emma promised, reaching out to pull Grace into a hug.

"Are you, father?" Grace looked at him, one arm still around Emma's neck. He looked from Emma to Grace and back, smiling as he shook his head. "Good, because I very really hard to prepare dinner for you, father. Right, Mary Margaret?"

"It is true," She confirmed, setting down a bowl of soup in front of Emma.

Ruby set down a bowl in front of Killian and cleared her throat to gain their attention. "First course is tomato soup, with basil leaves and a piece of French bread, made by yours truly. Bon appétit."

And with that they were left alone, Grace leaving last and shooting them both an encouraging glance before closing the door.

"Well, Lady Swan, it would appear tonight you are being treated as Lady of the house."

"Yes," Emma agreed as tore a piece of her bread and popped it into her mouth. "I must be careful before I make myself too comfortable in this position."

"You've still a lot to learn, to begin with, a Lady should not speak with her mouth full."

"Oh, I am aware, Sir," Emma chuckled. "But seeing as I will never be a Lord's wife, I will never be a Lady, and thus, my table manners do not truly matter. Unless, have I offended you with my poor table manners, Milord?"

"Hardly," Killian laughed.

"Good," She said softly, stirring in the steaming bowl of soup in front of her. "I admit I am not awfully good at making pleasantries. Especially since the question _how was your day today_ would be quite ridiculous, for we have spent the entire day together."

"It would, would it not? I do so hope you did not mind me spending the day with you and Grace."

"Not at all, Milord. In fact, I found it quite enjoyable."

"Perhaps we might do it again some time, after my return from Versailles?"

"I believe Grace would like that," Emma agreed.

"And yourself?" He asked carefully.

She smiled then, that smile she gave him more and more lately. A kind smile that filled him with warmth, and a desire to make her smile as such all the time.

"Yes, I should like that as well."

After a dinner he would not mind repeating–the company being one of the more pleasant ones he'd had in a while–, he sat with Grace snuggled against his side in the Grand Salon before the fire, listening to Emma's voice as she read Grace a bedtime story.

Then he wished his daughter goodnight, thanked her for the delicious meal she insisted she had helped make and retreated back into his office.

In two days from now, he would leave to Versailles. And he still had paperwork to finish before his leave. His employers had requested for him to meet with some Nobleman at court. It would not be long, two weeks at most, but he had made the trip before once or twice so he knew it would take at least two days and he dreaded it.

And then there was the matter that these days he preferred to stay home, spend time with his daughter. But at the same time, the more he was home the less he would require Miss Emma's services. And to send her away, Grace would never forgive him. He could not lie, however, he would not easily forgive himself either.

Emma has done his family a great favour; she had saved him.

He sighed and shook his head as though trying to shake her from his thoughts and tried turning his attention back to the paperwork he desperately needed to finish before his trip.

The candle's flame flickered, casting shadows upon his paper, the sound of his pen sliding over the paper was calming in a way.

As drowsiness washed over him like the waves over a shore, his thoughts wandered. And she would come up in his thoughts more than he cared to admit. She would fulfil his desires no matter how innocent or sinful they may be. Her touch would bring warmth, or satisfaction he had not felt in a while from a hand other than his own.

He stared at the paperwork until his eyes fell shut and the darkness overcame him.

His dream was cold and dark.

His chest was tight, his heart pounded heavily and at this point in time it would be the more merciful choice to rip it out.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, but no sound came; the silence was deafening.

There was nothing. The darkness had swallowed him whole.

And then suddenly there was light.

It was her, he could not see her yet, but he knew it was her; his light in dark times. She brought warmth, pushing the cold away. It spread at his cheek in the form of the tender touches of her fingertips.

"Emma." Her name fell over his lips before he even realised it.

"I am here, Milord." It was not a dream, he realised. Even in his dreams, she called him by his name. She was here, as she promised.

His eyes flew open and were met with hers. She sat on her knees next to his chair, her hand was still on his cheek. Part of him did not want her to stop touching him, and so he kept his head on his desk, no matter how uncomfortable the position. Whichever conclusions she drew from it, she kept them for herself and continued soothingly stroking her thumb back and forth across his cheek.

"You were having a nightmare, Ruby said you called out for me."

"I did not mean to," He spoke hoarsely–judging by the rawness of his throat, he had screamed, and loudly at that.

"It is quite alright, Milord." She promised. "Do you wish to share your troubles?"

"I do not," He answered far more harshly than he intended. Emma's jaw set as she started to draw her hand back from him. "I apologise, I did not mean to snap at you," He whispered as he grabbed hold of it. "Stay. Please."

He released her hand as Emma gave him a soft smile and a nod, shifting on her knees as he sat up straight and leant back in his chair.

"I have called you out of bed," Killian realised then, noticing her nightgown slipping off her shoulder as she adjusted her position. He reached out for her and she stilled, he watched her chest rise and fall quickly as her heartbeat picked up. He could not help himself; a grin settled on his lips. Her eyes were wide, but she was not warning him, she was equal parts curious as to what he would do and scandalised by how bare she sat before him.

His fingers brushed over her bare collarbone as he set her nightgown back over her shoulder. Emma's eyes were kept firmly fixed on his.

"What time is it?" Killian asked, his voice unintentionally lowered to a husky whisper.

"Past midnight."

"Ah," He nodded and got off his chair. "Then perhaps we ought to go to bed."

"We?" She questioned as she rose to her feet, her voice having audibly hitched in her throat.

"Each to our own, of course, what did you think, Miss Swan?" He arched a playful eyebrow at her.

"I––" He watched her throat as she swallowed thickly, then cleared it. She curtsied, quickly finding her reserve. "Nothing. Goodnight, Sir."

"Goodnight, love," He whispered as she was long out of the room.

* * *

 _Notes:_

 _Hi guys, first things first: I apologise for having you wait so long for an update. I got my first job last month, and most days I am so exhausted that I come home and fall asleep._  
 _But I will try to update more regularly again._  
 _Secondly, LKaOUT has been nominated in the CSfanficawards, for which I am SO incredibly grateful, I cannot express my gratitude enough. Thank you so, so much!_  
 _Also, Gracie has been nominated for best original character, and I'm so proud of this. I really do love Gracie and I am super happy you love her as well._

 _So thank you, for the nominations, and the voting, this means the world to me!_


	12. Twelve

_Early June, 1816._

 _Miss Emma,_

 _I have met with a lovely young woman earlier this week. We spoke long, and even after I mentioned Grace she remained and we conversed further. But as my daughter's opinion is important to me, I want you and Grace to come to Versailles so that they may meet._

 _You will remain here with us for about a week. I've arranged for passage on a ship and carriages to bring you to your destinations. You may find further instructions in the documents included._

 _Please inform Mr Jefferson that there will be no need for his services during this week._

 _K. Jones._

 _P.S. You might want to bring a book, for the journey is a long and dull one._

* * *

"Are we there yet, Emma?" Grace asked for fifth time in the past hours. But much like the previous times, Emma still did not have a single clue as to how long their journey would last still, so she gave Grace the answer she always gave her: "Almost."

"You said that last time," Grace sighed.

"And I am certain it is more true this time than it had been before," Emma replied, bringing her attention back to the book and reading the same line for what seemed to be the seventh time as Grace returned to fogging up the window with her breath and then drawing figures in it.

Emma sighed softly as an uneasy silence fell, she understood the child's frustration. The carriage, though quite spacious, became uncomfortable after being seated for the better part of two days, only being able to stretch their legs as they reached the posts where the horses would be exchanged for horses that had not been walking for twenty miles. Emma understood it became tedious, especially for a child who still did not find true entertainment in a book. But she did not know how to solve the problem, and in the end she debated speaking up for so long that eventually it was Grace who broke the silence once more.

"Father!" She suddenly exclaimed, brushing over all the drawn figures with her sleeve so that she could get a better look. Emma laid down the book next to her and leant closer to the window. Mr Jones stood on the side of the road with his suitcases next to him on the ground, looking on his pocket watch, his features somewhat concerned. As soon as he noticed the carriage and with that his daughter excited wave, the worry on his face made place for a smile and he raised a hand to wave back.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of him but he gestured for Emma and Grace to remain seated–much to Grace's dismay. He spoke briefly with the coachman, who then loaded his suitcases on the carriage whilst Mr Jones took place next to Grace.

"Do we have to sit _even_ more in the carriage father?" Grace asked with a large pout.

Mr Jones chuckled and kissed his daughter's forehead. "A few more minutes," He promised then looked over at Emma. "Have you not bothered Emma too much with your complaining, Gracie?"

"No," Grace answered with an innocent smile.

"I see," He laughed and arched his eyebrow at Emma who in return shook her head. True to his word, it did not take them more than fifteen minutes before the carriage drove onto a long, extending driveway.

"Here we are," Mr Jones spoke softly as the carriage drove onto the property.

"Is this the palace?" Emma asked as she leant closer to the window on Grace's side. In the distance, between the trees, she could almost make out a large building.

"No," Mr Jones snorted. His amusement at her lack of knowledge did not offend her as much as it once did. Especially not when she looked at him over her shoulder and saw not mockery but endearment. "It is not."

"I apologise," Emma muttered. "It would appear I've made the wrong assumption."

"You've nothing to apologise for, Miss Emma." Mr Jones answered whilst adjusting his coat and nervously tugging at his collar. "I never specified. I did meet with someone at court, but vacant rooms aside, there is not much to see there."

"Oh." Emma nodded, still not quite understanding. "So where are we now?"

"We are meeting a friend," He informed her. "But I wanted Grace to be here because she might be kinder to me." Mr Jones chuckled softly, and shook his head. "You will see."

The carriage pulled to a halt before an estate that had to have been at least three times as large as the mansion at home, just where a young woman and a few of her servants stood by the steps that led to the grand entrance door. Mr Jones was the first one to step out of the carriage and then helped his daughter out, after which he offered his hand for Emma to steady herself.

A petite woman stood before the carriage, her arms crossed and a stern scowl on her face. She had pretty features, blue eyes, brown curling hair pinned back and letting most of it fall over her shoulders. Her golden dress was beautiful, and of much better quality than Emma would ever be able to afford.

The woman scowled at Mr Jones, giving him an inspecting glance-over while he stood, almost shyly, in front of her. His hands were balled into fists by his side, not to throw a punch her way, but to keep them steady as the woman eyed him over. Mr Jones shifted on his legs twice before the woman's scowl finally faded and made place for a smile.

She gently–and with incredible grace–laid her hand on his cheek, stared at him as though she couldn't believe he was really standing before her.

Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into her embrace. "It it good to see you," She finally spoke, a kind voice, laced with a thick French accent.

"And you, Lady Belle," Mr Jones said, turning away from her to beckon Grace, who up until now had stood by Emma's side, and just as curiously as her had watched the scene before them unfold.

"Hello, Grace," Belle crouched down in front of her.

"Hello, Madame," Grace replied shyly and lifted her skirt to curtsy.

"You do not remember me, do you?" Grace shook her head. "No, I did not think so. You were barely two years old when I saw you last," Lady Belle smiled. "Oh, you look so much like your mother." Grace looked up at her father. There was sadness in his smile, but also pride and love. And when he held out his hand, Grace took it without hesitation.

"Then you must be Emma, the nanny, _non_?"

Emma nodded and curtsied. "Bonjour, Madame."

"You speak French?"

"Oh, only a few words–Madame."

"You may call me Belle," She said, glancing at Mr Jones. "Has Killian not told you?"

"No," Emma answered. "In fact, Mr Jones scarcely told me anything about this trip." When she locked her eyes with his, he gave her an unapologetic grin. A shy smile played around her lips as she looked away from him, how quickly she forgot the way his teasing made her head spin.

Belle hummed as she turned her attention to the servants that has stood by her side when they arrived and gave them instructions in fast spoken French words. Emma could just make out the words _chambers_ and _suitcases_.

"All that is important, is that you know that we are amongst friends. And as per such, you shall call me Belle, and not Madame." Belle smiled and grasped Emma's elbow, guiding her up the stairs and through the hallways of her mansion. Emma had read her fair share of literature, she'd always assumed that the way the interiors were described was overly exaggerated, but was quickly proven wrong, the French hallways were less than modest. They were a show of the household's wealth, with their stunning paintings, glorious marble statues, tall windows covered by golden, embroidered curtains. "So tell me, you are an orphan, are you not?"

"Yes," Emma answered, she wanted to question how she knew, but she would keep the question on a list of things to ask Mr Jones about in the back of her mind.

"Where did you learn French?"

"I would not say I have actually learnt it." Emma chuckled. "I barely know a few words, and of those few, I've already forgotten most. But I tried to teach myself for a while –"

"That must not have been easy," Lady Belle filled in.

"No," Emma agreed. "So I conversed with merchants, they were happy to help."

"I am certain they were, a woman willing to educate herself is always attractive," Belle smirked and glanced over her shoulder to where Grace and Mr Jones followed. "Wouldn't you agree, Killian?"

"Miss Emma has a great fondness of books," He answered instead, easily avoiding Lady Belle's question. "I thought perhaps you would like to show her your collection."

"Of course! But for now, you three ought to get some rest, for tonight we have a small gathering to celebrate." Belle announced happily as she came to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Emma watched as the servants that had been following them entered the rooms and brought their suitcases to their assigned rooms. Grace's next to Emma's with Mr Jones' room on her other side.

"What are we celebrating?" Grace questioned curiously, her hand still holding tightly to her father's, refusing to leave his side.

"Happiness," Belle answered, sharing a look with Mr Jones.

* * *

When Lady Belle had told them there would be a small gathering taking place that evening, Emma quickly realised that it was a grand understatement. The estate's large ballroom was quickly overflowing with guests, and from her spot on the windowsill Emma could see even more guests arrive. They came in expensive carriages, wearing elaborate gowns using only the finest silk. Their husbands–and lovers, no doubt–dressed in the most refined coats with intricate patterns and embellishments.

Servants brought in an overflowing amount of drinks, and expensive looking bites and refreshments, using ingredients Emma had never even heard of.

Though she did not speak the language well, she did not need understanding to know that guests spoke of idle gossip in a ridiculous fashion. Or danced in a way that would have been considered scandalous back in England. Their faces in close proximity, their bodies against each other, always touching. In Emma's eyes, they may as well have been having sex. A waltz, someone had informed her with an amused grin upon seeing her looking quite horrified. It was a new sort of dance, and would soon make its entrance into England. Or so they told her.

But she could not quite think of the dance as anything more than scandalous, and so Emma sat on the windowsill, watching Mr Jones and Grace dance in the middle of the room instead. Grace stood on his feet and he held her close as he turned himself around. Grace was loudly laughing while Mr Jones stared down at her with a wide smile on his face. Emma had rarely seen either of them so happy, let alone at the same time. Grace's shrieking laughter easily carried over the voices of other nearby guests and an occasional laugh could be heard from Mr Jones.

It occurred to her that Lord Jones rarely laughed as freely as he did now. It was not until she had been in his household for five months that she had heard him laugh for the first time and it had quite taken her by surprise. Grace had been telling a story of sorts and the ending had been utmost humorous. As Mr Jones laughed, Grace and Emma shared a glance, both amused yet surprised at his laughter.

Emma had not been expecting anyone to talk to her at this gathering. While she may not exactly look like one of the servants here, she certainly still looked like she did not belong. And many of the nobility did not give her more than one glance, but from the corner of her eye, Emma saw a young woman approach her with a determined smile on her lips. Her kind blue eyes bright with excitement. Emma quickly rose from her spot on the windowsill to take a quick curtsy.

"Hello," The Lady smiled, and came to stand next to her. "You must be Emma, are you not? I am aware it is improper for me to introduce myself, I must admit I was rather curious about you, after all, Lord Jones has told me so much about you. I am Aurora."

"I– yes, I am. He–" Emma frowned, looking back to Grace and Mr Jones. "He told you about me?"

"Only good things, I promise."

"Forgive me," Emma chuckled. "But I hardly believe that."

"Oh, well, he is a hard man to read."

"I would not necessarily say that. But in any event, he has made his feelings towards me very clear. On multiple occasions."

"Oh, but I do not believe he has." Lady Aurora laughed.

"I see you've met the lovely lady I mentioned in my letter." Mr Jones joined them, Grace by his side. Both their cheeks red, and smiles still firmly plastered on their faces. Lord Jones briefly took Lady Aurora's hand in his and brushed a feather-light kiss against her knuckles. "Have you been properly introduced?"

Aurora hid a giggle behind her hand and nodded. "Yes, we have been made acquainted."

He smiled, almost staring at her for a brief moment. "It is good to see you again, Milady."

"And you, Milord." Lady Aurora spoke, giving him a graceful curtsy.

"This is my daughter, Grace."

"What an absolute delight it is to meet you," Lady Aurora said, kneeling down before her. "You are far more beautiful than your father told me."

Grace hid her shyness behind her hand before reaching out for one of Aurora's loose hanging curls. "You are very beautiful too."

"Why, thank you very much."

A moment followed in which more pleasantries were exchanged. Lady Aurora was gentle and loving, she spoke and moved with elegance. Her smile was captivating, her beauty radiating. It was not hard to see why Mr Jones was absolutely smitten with her.

He rarely looked at Emma, but when he did, he smiled at her with something in his eyes she could not quite lay her finger on. Hope, maybe? Hope that Lady Aurora could be the one with whom he could start a new life. A new family.

It gave her conflicting feelings all together; she was happy Mr Jones was opening his heart to love once more. But there was still a certain jealousy bubbling inside her. To which, of course, she had no right to; she was his servant, and she would never be anything more than that.

So when he asked Lady Aurora for the honour of sharing a dance with him and she agreed enthusiastically, Emma could not help but watch them dance. A waltz, of all things. They danced well. Mr Jones had told her once that Lady Milah had quite enjoyed dancing. Emma imagined he did not dance often in the years after her passing, but perhaps dancing was a skill you could not unlearn.

There was a certain ease in their movements that Emma could not imagine herself having if someone were to ask her for a dance. If.

Grace had quickly left Emma's side and found herself a group of young children to dance with. They did not speak the same language, but dancing was an art for which no words were needed to enjoy each other's company. Though, more often than not, she watched Mr Jones and Lady Aurora dance instead. She smiled at him and he smiled at her, it appeared as if the world could cease to exist around them, and in that moment they would not even notice. Lady Aurora was beautiful, and in the brief moment they met, she was nothing but kind, even to Emma. Perhaps that was why it hurt even more, Emma could not even pretend to hate her. She'd never been the jealous type, but Emma dearly wished it was her in his arms. Dancing, smiling, and being courted in hopes of a marriage proposal.

In a moment forgotten that she was supposed to look after Grace, she excused herself from the company that had formed around her and exited the grand ballroom. The hallway was calm, only a few Lords and Ladies walked the nearly empty corridors. A small number of servants walked around as well, offering drinks or walking in an out of the ballroom with plateaus with almost scandalous amounts of leftovers being sent back to the kitchen.

Emma had not had a single clue as to where to go, but she found hiding behind the thick curtains that were drawn offered her a perfect spot of solitude. Not a single soul paid attention to her, almost as if she was invisible, though with tears threatening to flow, that was something she was grateful for.

She hid herself behind the curtain, sitting on the windowsill. The window looked out over the stunning garden of the estate, lanterns lighting it up beautifully. It almost had something magical. Her breath fogged up the glass and she had to keep herself from drawing something.

Finally she allowed a sob to leave her lips and her tears to spill over her cheeks. It was absurd. What had she expected? For him to dance with her all night like he had done before? They were because he wanted to marry Lady Aurora, what a horrid display would that be, if he danced with Emma instead.

"Emma?" Grace's voice whispered. "Are you all right?"

"I am fine, Gracie," Emma answered. "I will be there in a moment."

"Emma, I can hear you cry," Grace replied, drawing back the curtain slightly so that she could get behind it as well. "What's wrong?" She asked, sitting down on the windowsill next to Emma and taking her hands in hers.

"It is nothing," Emma promised, taking a deep breath and drawing back one hand to wipe away her tears.

"Do you love him?" Grace asked calmly.

"What? Who?"

"Father," Grace explained patiently, as if she had never posed the question before–which she had. "Do you love him?"

"I am not crying because of him," Emma whispered, her voice nearly a hiss. "Sorry, I am perhaps a little tired. It was a long journey here, was it not?"

"It was. But you still have not answered my question," Grace smiled as she tilted her head slightly.

"I do not love him." Lie. "And I am not crying because of him." Also a lie. "I would like to be left alone now." Definitely a lie. "Give me five minutes and I will come back, is that all right?"

"Yes," Grace answered, wrapping her arms around Emma's neck. "I love you."

"And I you. Five minutes," Emma promised, watching Grace crawl away from behind the curtain. Emma pulled her legs to her chest and leant her chin against her knees, staring outside with a firm gaze, refusing to let more tears roll over her cheeks.

She flinched when the curtain moved a short while later, she looked up to see Mr Jones step behind the curtain with her.

"Huh, Grace did not mention this space being so small," He chuckled and shook his head as he sat down next to her on the windowsill. Mr Jones looked at her intently for a moment before speaking up again. "Are you all right, Miss Emma?"

"I am fine," She smiled–not all too convincing. "It is just a little overwhelming is it not?"

"Not really," He smiled while reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his arm leaning onto her knee. Her heart leapt at his casual touch; he may not have felt it, but to her each touch woke a fire underneath her skin. "What do you think of Aurora?"

"She's wonderful," Emma answered, vainly trying to keep herself from sighing into his touch. "She is beautiful and kind, and she is nice to Grace."

"Yes. But I do not think she is the one I would like to marry," Mr Jones whispered. "That, and she rejected me for she is convinced my heart still belongs to another woman and that it would not be fair, not to her, nor to me. But she is right, it would not be fair. Especially if my heart does indeed lie elsewhere."

Milah. He might not have said her name, but she knew he still loved her. And he likely always would. She was the mother of his child, after all. Perhaps he needed more time before he was ready to take on a new wife, when finding love became a desire, not a necessity.

"So we came here for nothing?" Emma asked.

"I would not say that," He grinned. "You like travelling stories do you not? Have you ever been to Paris–or even to another country?"

"No," She answered. "I can't say I have."

"Now you've a story of your very own."

Emma laughed softly and nodded. "Then, I thank you for this opportunity, Milord."

"You are welcome," Mr Jones smiled. "I am sorry you thought you would be seeing the Palace, however. I should have specified."

"It is quite all right, I do not believe I would have fit in. I barely look as though I belong _here_. Although I must admit, I am a little disappointed. I heard the Palace gardens were very beautiful, I looked forward to seeing them."

"Again, you have my sincere apologies," He said as he looked behind the curtain before looking back to her. "If you are finished needing a private moment, I would like to dance with you, if you will."

"Are you mocking me, Sir?"

"No, Milady. I've made that mistake a fair amount in the past and I've no desire to go down that path again. It is simply, I can see that you are troubled, but if you won't tell Grace, or me, then I'm afraid there is not much else I can do. Thus, if you are ready to come out of hiding, Grace and I will be in the ballroom." He spoke as he gently took her hand between his. A soft gasp escaped her lips as he locked eyes with hers and brushed a soft kiss against the palm of her hand. "And you owe me a dance."

"Yes, Milord."

Upon returning to the ballroom a short while later, she saw Mr Jones by one of the fires, leaning against it as he stared at its flames. He appeared as though he was lost deeply within his thoughts, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed. She was about to turn around–she would give him an excuse of being too tired tomorrow–and retire to her chamber, when Mr Jones looked up, his frown making place for a smile, inviting her over with a nod.

Emma forced on a small smile and walked towards him. "Where is Grace?"

"In bed, she was getting tired." Mr Jones offered his hand, with a gentle bow. "Dance with me?"

"A waltz?"

"We are not in England anymore, darling." He grinned as she slipped her hand into his and he guided her through the guests towards the dancing area.

"I have no idea how to–"

"Luckily," He murmured, laying his hand on her lower back, pulling her closer with a quick tug. "I do. Just follow my lead." She did not have to think too much, every movement he made flowed naturally into another with him.

And their first dance easily flowed into a second.

She relished the way he held her, she drowned in the colour of his eyes, lost herself in their movements. And the suddenly the idea of a man and a woman holding each other so closely did not seem as scandalous to her as it had seemed before.

Her hand in his, his other hand low on the small of her back, sometimes pressing a little harder as though he was afraid she would slip through his fingers. But then she looked at him and found him already smiling down on her, worriless and free.

And she found herself easily returning that smile.

"Another?" He asked her as the orchestra prepared for their next song.

"A third?" Emma asked, surprise in her voice.

Mr Jones chuckled, raising a hand to scratch behind his ear. "I am aware it would be against etiquette in England. But I am not entirely certain what the etiquette in France is. And as the Lady of the house is a friend of mine, I am certain we would not be offending anyone should we share a third dance."

Emma chuckled, accepting his hand when he offered it to her and shared a third dance with him.

And a fourth.

And a fifth.

And a sixth.

They danced until Lady Belle dismissed the orchestra due to it being well past midnight. It was only then they realised they were the only ones left dancing and only a handful of guests remained in the ballroom.

They shared a chuckle when they realised just how late it had gotten, and how neither of them noticed.

After their fourth dance, when still no one had made a remark, they easily shared a fifth and a sixth dance without ever really wondering whether it was considered inappropriate or not. Though she was tired, she could dance for much longer, merely to stay in his presence for as long as she could.

As he walked next to her, in close proximity, his hand brushed against hers multiple times, but he did not step away from her.

Mr Jones walked with her until they reached her bedroom door, where they stood in utter silence. It may have been nearing three in the morning, but neither had really wanted to stop dancing.

The long hall was silent; neither a servant nor guest walked through the empty halls at this hour.

And he touched her hand as though he knew; all he would do tonight would be between them alone.

Every second of their dance had seemed to last for hours, and still it was not enough. She hated the moment when he stepped away from her and wished her goodnight with a brush off his lips against her knuckles and a curt nod of his head.

Entering her large bedroom and closing it behind her, she leant her forehead against the cool wooden door. A blush had no doubt taken place on her cheeks and she hoped he had not seen it.

After she had seen Lady Aurora dance with a man – whose name, Mr Jones informed her, was Philip – for the third time, Emma stopped caring whether people thought sharing so many dances were inappropriate or not.

But Mr Jones did not appear jealous that his previous dancing partner had found a more suitable match. In fact, he had scarcely seemed to notice; he had eyes only for Emma. At the thought, Emma buried her face in her hands and suppressed a giggle, her treacherous heart beating fast in her chest, making her feel giddy and enamoured.

She had fallen in love with Lord Killian Jones. Truthfully, she had done so a while ago.

And days like these gave her hope that he might grow to love her in return.

* * *

 ** _AN:_**

 _um... hi._

 _Okay I have a few notes, firstly, sorry for the extremely long wait, I can explain, sort of. But I would like to get this out of the way: no matter how long I go between updates, know that I will never abandon this fic. I pretty much have everything written out already, though some chapters are only a few lines of simple dialogue, and some directions for myself. But there are other chapters that are almost completely written already. So some chapters will definitely be more work than others_

 _In all honesty, this chapter kind of fell victim to ... a series of unfortunate events (wink), as in; first the holidays happened, which isn't necessarily unfortunate, but it is for my writing. Then I had surgery, which definitely knocked me out for a week, after recovering from surgery I got really sick for a week, then I had a busy week at work, then I forgot about the French Revolution, and then a few weeks later I was told I was probably not going to be allowed to keep my job, which in turn set plans in motion for things I cannot openly talk about right now._

 _Looking at this list, forgetting about the French Revolution seems like the least relevant item on the list, but truthfully it was the biggest issue of all._

 _Which then brings me to another note: this chapter (and the next) might not be as historically accurate as I'd like. I tried my very best to keep it as accurate as possible, but certain items might definitely bug some people. I know it does me. See the thing is, I was so excited for this chapter, I had written so many things already, and I am doing research on how the palace looked at that time, and suddenly I realise it... I'd forgotten about the French Revolution. Terror. So I had to delete quite a few things, which really set me back._

 _On a more positive note; eventually I did find time and energy to put in this chapter and I wrote without a set goal in mind (I usually try to keep my chapters around 5K words or more) and so I kept writing and ended up with nearly 10K words. Now as might have noticed, this chapter barely reaches 4.7K. So yup, after careful consideration, I split the chapter, which in turn means that I will definitely be updating within two weeks!_

 _And last note, and to me the most important one, it's been a few weeks, but Grace won 'best original character' in the CSfanfic awards, and I am so incredibly grateful. Thank you so, so much for loving Grace, for voting for her. And thank you for reading my story and sticking with me, it means the world to me!_


	13. Thirteen

There was a moment of hesitation when she approached the breakfast room that following morning. The two servants that stood by the door greeted her with a courteous nod of the head–clearly they had not been told she was nothing more than a servant herself. She lifted her hand as they moved to open the double doors, requiring a moment to prepare herself to face Mr Jones.

Last night's events had easily coloured her dreams in shades of sinful actions and lustful thoughts. And as such, she feared that any glance between them would send her into a fit of giggles, if not excessive blushing–and she dreaded the idea.

Early morning light seeped brightly through the ajar door out into the dark hallway. Voices came along with it. Two, specifically: Lady Belle's and Mr Jones'.

"In any case," Lady Belle continued a sentence that Emma had not heard. "You did not tell me she was literate, Killian."

A scoff came, followed by Mr Jones' rough early morning voice. "I see no reason why I had to tell you." He sounded tired still, perhaps he had only slept a few hours before Grace woke him up. Grace _did_ have a tendency to wake early, even if she was allowed to sleep late.

"Or that she knew French?" Lady Belle added.

"I did not know."

"Do you even know her at all?" Belle teased.

Emma nodded at the servants, silently asking them to open the door. "I know –" Mr Jones quit his sentence quickly as he laid eyes on her, greeting her with a curt nod of his head. Grace excitedly patted on the empty chair next to her as soon as she noticed Emma walk into the breakfast room.

"Not as much as you would like to?" Lady Belle smirked, reaching for a steaming cup of coffee by her plate.

"Good morning," Emma spoke softly, taking a small curtsy before sitting down.

"Good morning," Lady Belle said over her cup. "We were just talking about you."

"You were talking about me?" Emma frowned, not understanding why she would blatantly admit to gossiping. But Emma could not quite bring herself to look at Lady Belle yet. What truly had her attention was the grand room. There a large table fit for twenty people, though currently only set for four, in the middle of it. It was not empty, however, luxurious flowers in elaborate bouquets dressed the long table. Impressive paintings hung on the wall, but the most impressive had to have been the ceiling. A stunning scene of angels in the heaven sky and a tall chandelier just above the table.

Finally tearing her eyes from the ceiling, her gaze landed upon Mr Jones. He looked at her with an amused glance, and then arched an eyebrow when she stared at him for just a bit too long. He did not seem as affected by her as she was by him after last night, and it hurt her more than she liked to admit.

"Yes. Though it was nothing of importance, I simply marvelled at the matter of your literacy. I certainly mean no offence. Coffee?"

"None taken," Emma answered. "And yes, please."

"We have decided will be going for a ride later today," Lady Belle informed her whilst gesturing for the servant holding a coffeepot to come closer. "Would you care to join us?"

"I've never sat on a horse before, I hope you do not mind if I sit this one out." Emma chuckled, silently thanking the servant for the coffee. "Perhaps you might show me your library before you leave? I am certain I would be able to keep myself busy during your absence."

"Of course," Lady Belle nodded.

After breakfast Emma followed Lady Belle through the hallways, walking into the enormous library. Emma was not certain where to look first, there were more books than she could count; so many that a ladder was needed to reach the highest shelves. And in the back was a wooden, spiral staircase that led to a second level of books. Near the left side of the room stood a few desks, each equipped with pens and papers, perhaps for guests to write to their loved ones during their stay at Lady Belle's estate.

And on the right side stood four chaises and sofa's arranged so that each of them were facing the giant fireplace.

The sun poured through the ceiling high windows, illuminating the thousands of dust speckles that floated through the room, its rays of heat leaving the room nicely warm.

Emma felt as though she was still dreaming. Never had she ever seen this many books in one room.

"My husband had it made for me." Belle said, tracing her fingers over the spines of her books. "I do not know what this room was before, he never told me, quite frankly I do not care; I like what it is now."

"Your husband?" Emma questioned, having noticed the lack of ring on her finger.

"It was an arranged marriage, that did not work out as well as they had hoped," She explained carelessly. "It matters not, he is rarely home anyway, off to God knows where making deals of sorts."

"Do you not long for love?" Emma asked, taking a book in her hands and carefully examining it. "I apologise, I do not mean to be so forward."

"She simply cannot help it, really," Mr Jones' voice sounded. Both women looked up to find Lord Jones entering the library with a grin playing around his lips.

" _Casse-toi_ ," Belle warned before turning back to Emma. "I do have love. Though I do not see her as much as I would prefer. But that might change now, Killian?"

Emma quickly hid her surprise as Lady Belle made mention of a woman instead of a man. Emma knew many people considered it scandalous, but Mr Jones was clearly not one of them. He simply brushed off the accusations thrown his way and shrugged. "You know she has my permission to come here whenever she pleases, Lady Belle," He said. "In any event, I came to fetch you, we are ready to take our leave."

"Of course. Emma, should you require anything, please do not hesitate to ask the servants, they will be more than happy to assist you, most of them speak a fair amount of English."

Lady Belle's library contained books from all over the world, certain ones in languages even Mr Jones did not speak.

After browsing for what felt like ages, hoping to have noticed almost every title in the room, she settled on a title she was certain was not in Mr Jones' collection, and took a spot on the wide windowsill that had been made comfortable with pillows and a blanket.

Before long evening fell and Mr Jones, Grace and Belle returned home just in time for supper. Emma had been so captivated in her book she had not noticed how night had fallen around her, the fireplace having been lit without her even realising someone had been in the library to do so, the tea that a servant had brought her long gone cold, but her book not nearly finished.

Lady Belle told her she would be allowed to keep the book until she finished it, even if that meant taking it home to England.

After dinner the four of them sat in the drawing room, Emma and Lady Belle with the company of a book, and Grace sat with her father by the piano. He played a few notes for her whereupon she tried to mimic them. However, his patience with her was often met with a frustrated clash of notes–and a chuckle on Emma's part.

It was not until Mr Jones started playing a soft lullaby, and Grace easily fell asleep with her head against her father's arm that Lady Belle suggested they all turn in for the night. Emma agreed, but she could hardly put the book down, it was exciting and well-written, and she wanted to finish it as quickly as possible. So she brought it with her to her room where she read until her eyes fell closed, scarcely managing to close the book, put it away and lying down before she fell asleep with the book on top of her.

It felt as though she had only just fallen asleep when a soft knock on her door came leaving her to suppress a groan, dreading the idea that morning had come already, but opening her eyes revealed her room was still veiled in darkness.

"Yes?" She mumbled tiredly. The door slowly opened, and in the candlelight she was holding Emma could just make out Grace's features. "What's wrong darling?"

"I had a nightmare."

"Come here," Emma whispered. At home, Emma would walk her to the kitchen and prepare a warm milk for her, but truth be told, Emma hadn't had a single clue as to where the kitchen was in this estate. Downstairs, likely, but she was not about to open every door until she found the kitchen, so she invited Grace to sleep next to her, with a promise of chasing the bad dreams away if they dared come near her again.

Her sleep was once more cut short when Emma flinched awake for the second time that night as her door abruptly opened without so much as a knock. This time she truly hoped she had barely slept an hour since Grace crawled into her bed and woke her. "Emma have you seen Grace?"

She recognised the voice as Mr Jones' and lied back down, closing her eyes as she yawned. "What time is it?" Emma asked, hopeful that she still had at least a few hours to sleep. Though in the brief moment she had opened her eyes, she had not seen any light, apart from the candle he was holding.

"I had a nightmare father," Grace spoke up with a thick voice.

"Why did you not come to me?"

Grace remained silent, either having fallen back asleep, or not entirely certain which answer to give. Because it she always came to Emma after a nightmare or because she was not entirely certain her father would allow her to stay.

"Are you all right, Milord?" Emma asked, looking over her shoulder briefly as she brushed her hands through Grace's hair.

"Yes," He replied shortly, and then finally, as if he had been holding his breath all this time, he took a deep breath and released it just as quickly. "It would appear nightmares were a common thing tonight. Goodnight," He whispered before closing the door after a moment of silence.

Minutes passed, but she never heard the door of the room next to hers close. So she rose from the bed, taking the blanket she had discarded last night from the floor and wrapped it around herself and quietly slipped out of the room. Mr Jones' bedroom door was opened, still. But a quick glance inside revealed the bed was empty.

The stone floor was cold against her bare feet as she padded through the empty corridors of the estate. She found the door of the library ajar, and candlelight poured in a gently flickering stream out in the hallway.

Mr Jones sat behind a desk with his back facing the door, his pen hastily scratching over the paper in front of him.

"Milord?" Emma whispered. He quickly dropped the pen and turned the paper around. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, go back to sleep," He said softly, but he did not look up. So she closed the door behind her and stepped inside, taking the chair from the desk next to his and placing it down so that she could sit closely next to him. "Always disobeying my orders," He shook his head, but a smile appeared on his lips anyway.

"What is troubling you, Milord?" She questioned as she sat down, pulling her legs up in the chair as well. He looked at her for a moment, his hand hovered over the paper he had been writing. He appeared to be debating whether or not to let her read the words he'd written down, but that would be a first, and he was clearly not ready for it. He did not want to give her access to his troubled mind. Not yet at least. "Are you still writing letters to the one you trust most?"

"Yes," He answered. "I have written quite a number already."

"What do you do with them?"

"Do you intend to find them and read them?"

"No, Milord, of course not. I am simply wondering whether you write them to get your thoughts in order and then throw them away, or if you keep them, perhaps for this person to read later."

"I have kept most of them," Mr Jones replied, fiddling with the corner of the paper. In the small streaks of ink she could just make out today's date. "But I do not think I will let her read them. Maybe at a later time, when I have explained myself properly and I know she will not be angry with me for all the things I have done and the things I have said to her."

Emma smiled at him. "I am certain Grace has already forgiven you, Milord. She did not need a lot of persuasion."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Go back to bed, Miss Emma."

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes," He said. It was not a lie, but whatever troubled him still, he did not wish to talk about it. Emma nodded, rising to her feet and laying her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. He sighed deeply at her touch and sat back in his chair as he rubbed his hands over his tired face.

"If you need me…" She trailed off when he took her hand into his.

"I will find you," He promised, kissing her knuckles softly. "Sleep well, love."

"Goodnight, Milord."

* * *

They remained in Lady Belle's estate for a few more days, before setting the date of their departure as the end of the week. Lady Belle entertained them for the most part, touring them through the city, hosting a small game tournament. The days she took Grace and Mr Jones for a ride, Emma remained at the estate and tarried in the library until evening fell and the company returned.

Breakfast on the morning of their departure had been a simple affair, Mr Jones informed her that Grace had convinced Lady Belle to go for one last ride before they returned home tonight, and they had already left, so today it would be just the two of them. When Emma asked him if he had anything planned for the day, he merely smiled and said it would be a surprise.

Before long, they found themselves in a carriage to a–for Emma–unknown destination, with Mr Jones refusing to say a single word each time she tried to have a guess at what they would be doing. It had nothing to do with horses, they would not be visiting the capital, they were not visiting a friend, nor were they buying a gift for Grace–or anyone else.

When Emma sighed and muttered something about giving up, Mr Jones gave her one of his warm chuckles and said something about patience still not being one of her virtues. She stubbornly crossed her arms and looked away from him, much to his amusement.

"We are almost there," He promised. "In fact," He glanced at his pocket watch and then outside, where for a moment nothing but trees could be seen. "I believe we are driving onto its driveway right now."

Once the tree-line stopped, it revealed an incredible building that stretched for as far as she could currently see. The building was gorgeous, though parts of it lay in rubble. The carriage drove through what once had been a quite impressive golden gate and pulled to a halt where a man dressed in elaborate and luxurious clothes stood waiting.

Mr Jones stepped out of the carriage once the coachman opened the door.

"The palace?" Emma asked in a low whisper, accepting Mr Jones' hand as he held it out for her.

He grinned and raised his eyebrows playfully, "You wanted to see the gardens, did you not?"

"Monsieur Jones, Lady Emma," The man greeted with a heavy French accent.

"Monsieur Humbert," Mr Jones shook the hand of the man as Emma made a courteous curtsy. "You are certain this is not an issue?"

" _Non_ ," He gestured for them to follow. "As long as you stay in the gardens there should not be any problem." They followed him past the impressive walls of the palace into its endless gardens where the man bid them farewell.

Mr Jones explained that after the Revolution the palace had been partly destroyed and its next occupant left it mostly vacant. Only now, they made an attempt and rebuilding what was lost and replanting the gardens that were ruined.

He told her that he had never been to the palace either until a few days ago, but he offered her his arm as they walked and shared the little knowledge he had about the palace and the gardens with her.

After hours of strolling through the endless gardens, by countless of statues and numerous fountains they decided the time came for their return.

Not many words has been spoken during the hours that had flown by, but when they were, Emma noticed there was a certain ease between them. They were not limited to society's standard small talk, nor the unease that should have been felt when a man and woman were left alone without another person in the room. Their conversation easily flowed from talk of art and statues to Grace, even to home, or silly things like a favourite meal. Emma realised she had been in his household for so long and never came to learn what that was exactly. He did not necessarily have one, but he quite appreciated the French cuisine. And his favourite dessert had to have been the apple pie Emma had once made–the comment had made her smile and promise she would make it again some time.

Upon their return in the direction of the palace Emma pulled to a halt as she noticed a pathway they had not yet seen, a series of archways and a statue in the middle piquing her interest.

A shared glance and a nod was all permission she needed to make one final stop before they would leave the gardens. Emma stared up at the tall statue, not necessarily staring at the artwork itself, but the way it was crafted from the marble. Though it was made from stone there weren't any rough edges, and each piece of fabric seemed as smooth as the real thing. Before visiting the Palace, she had never truly seen artwork like this before. She had seen a fair share of paintings. But she had never been in a place so far above her class that it could afford marble statues.

She thought of how the art would endure time, and perhaps in two hundred years, it might still be in its exact same spot for others to stand where she stood and marvel at the statue as she had done before them.

"L'Enlèvement de Proserpina par Pluton," Mr Jones spoke softly, his voice behind her almost startling her, she had nearly forgotten he was with her.

"Sorry?"

"The Rape of Persephone by Pluto. Naturally, they translated it into something gruesome. The artist could have also meant abduction. Not that, following the myth, it would be any less gruesome."

"Oh," Emma mumbled, looking behind her to find him looking at the statue as well. As the first drop of rain fell, he tore his gaze away from the art and sighed.

"We really ought to go back lest we both get ill," He mumbled, but the few droplets almost instantly became pouring rain and they quickly realised they would never make it to the palace before becoming soaking wet. So, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along to find shelter, finding it in the form of the trees around the Colonnade.

The thick trees offered protection from the rain, but not the cold wind that came along with it. As she watched the rain clatter against the ground, Emma wrapped her arms around herself in a poor attempt to keep herself from shivering. But her cold fingers against her wet, bare arms did not help her cause.

She paced around for a few steps until she turned back around again and Mr Jones stood right in front of her, his coat already taken off and held up towards her, so that all she needed to do was turn her back to him and slip into its warmth.

Instead she stared at him.

"You are cold," He stated matter-of-factly when she frowned and refused to move.

"So will you be, if you lend me your coat."

"I will be fine, I am wearing more layers than you are. Please accept my offer."

"Very well," Emma answered stubbornly, but once she turned around and let him help her into the warmth of his coat, she was very grateful she accepted the offer. "Thank you," She muttered.

He gave her a small nod but remained silent.

It did not last long before she noticed that he was getting colder as well. He would not be so bland as to outright hug himself, but he stood with feigned nonchalance with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tensed, his lips slowly turning purple.

Emma stepped forward, but he did not back away from her, not even when she tentatively reached out for him. He merely watched her with intense curiosity–and a slight shiver. She took one more step until she stood against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head into the warmth of his neck.

For a moment that seemed to last excruciatingly long, he stood with his hands in his pockets and did not move at all. When he did finally move, Emma found herself holding her breath, uncertain as to what he would do. Would he push her away or –

But then he removed his hands from his pockets and laid them around her, immediately engulfing her in his warmth. And then he sighed deeply as though he had been holding his breath for the entirety of her holding him and she found herself finally exhaling as well. Emma felt her heart drum strongly in her chest, the thrill of him holding her–the realisation that anyone could see them in such a scandalous position.

She felt his cheek gently laying against her temple, a sigh escaping him. His fingertips pressed softly into her skin as though he was afraid she would slip through his fingers, or step away from him too soon.

Emma closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing and the rain falling around them. With each passing moment feeling more and more like wrapped up in his arms was the place she belonged more than anywhere else in the world.

Truthfully, she had no notion of how much time had passed since she stepped into his embrace, but when the rain stopped and rays of sun started seeping through the leaves once more, she knew it had not been enough.

"The rain has stopped," Emma said quietly. He gave a soft murmur in response but did not release her. Emma chuckled softly and looked up to meet his gaze–his face far closer than expected. How easily she could simply inch a bit closer and close that gap between them. But she didn't, she looked away from him instead, averting eyes to the place where she had buried her neck only moments ago, and where she could gladly return to for a few more hours. "Much as I do not wish to release you either, Sir," She whispered, still not having found her voice to speak up any louder than a mere murmur. "We leave in however many hours, and I would like time to change into a gown that is not as wet as this one."

"As milady desires," He answered.

* * *

"I am sleepy, Emma," Grace mumbled, shifting in her spot for the nth time in a few short minutes. "Are we home yet?"

"No darling, not for a few more hours," Emma answered and looked up from the book Lady Belle had gifted her to accompany her on the journey home. Though the book was quite pleasing, Emma's thoughts were elsewhere entirely. Her thoughts kept dwelling back to the conversation with Lady Belle just before they left, when she pulled Emma into a hug and whispered words for her ears only.

"You take care of him, all right?" She'd spoken in her French accent.

"I will. If he lets me," Emma had promised with a chuckle.

"Ah," Belle had smiled and tilted her head slightly. "But you truly have no idea, do you?"

"Of what?"

"Of the effect you have on him," Lady Belle had told Emma and squeezed her hand gently. "Having you in his life it changed him for the better. Thank you."

As Lady Belle stepped away from her to hand Mr Jones a blue velvet pouch–the sound of coins a giveaway as to what the pouch contained–Emma was reminded of the time Ruby had said nearly the same thing.

Over the course of her stay with him, Emma had affected Mr Jones. Whether either of them had realised it or not, it happened, and Emma was slowly beginning to understand that now.

But he had affected her as well.

And it were those thoughts exactly that kept her from fully enjoying the book on her lap at this very moment.

"Why don't you lie down with your head upon my lap?" Emma suggested as she soothingly brushed her hand through Grace's hair.

"That is not very comfortable," Grace complained.

"Well, what do you wish for me to do?"

"I do not know," Grace snapped. Emma knew Grace was not angry with her, she was merely frustrated from the long ride, and the hours she had been cooped up in this carriage, and previously the ship. Through the trip to France had been wonderful, making the long trip with a child as young as Grace could be quite tiring.

Mr Jones looked up from his papers. "Grace," He warned.

"I apologise, Emma."

"It is quite all right. But surely you must understand that there is not much else I can do."

"Can you not sit next to father so I will have this seat for myself and lie down?" Grace questioned.

"It would not be very appropriate," Emma spoke, not daring to look at Mr Jones, lest her cheeks get even more red.

"I don't understand," Grace sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "Why not?"

"For Emma is not my relative nor my wife, it would be against etiquette," Mr Jones spoke, his voice was stern, yet slightly weary. The long journey was taking a toll on all of them. And Emma knew that if Grace would not accept his reasons for not wanting to sit next to her, he would give in eventually, just to silence his daughter. But Emma also knew that Grace did not quit easily, especially when she was grumpy.

"You have done many things that are improper," Grace said, raising a tired yet challenging eyebrow.

"Have we?"

"You spend time with each other, _alone_ , you touch each other all the time, you–"

"Fine!" Mr Jones interrupted his daughter. "Take my bloody seat already." He gathered his papers from the spot next to him and held them to his chest as he exchanged seats with Grace. He sat down next to Emma with a tired, exasperated sigh and watched his daughter as she lay down with a contented smile on the seat across them.

Before long, Emma grew tired as well. Her eyes falling shut as she attempted to read the same line for the fifth time, and still not being quite certain what was written down.

She laid her head against the side of the carriage, shifting uncomfortably in her seat once or twice while trying to ignore the constant hitting of her head against the carriage.

Emma rubbed her hands over her face and stifled a yawn as she sat back straight again upon realising she was not going to find a comfortable sleeping position any time soon.

"Come here," Mr Jones whispered almost inaudibly. Looking at him revealed he'd sat with his back against the carriage inviting her to lean against him. Whether she was truly too tired to fight him over it, or her reasons for agreeing without complaint being something else entirely, she leant her back against his chest without him having to insist.

Still, it took them a moment before they'd found a position that was comfortable for the both of them.

But as she slowly fell asleep, she felt his fingers slowly rake through her hair, sometimes taking a curl and twisting it around his finger before falling into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

"Emma, wake up darling."

Slowly, she opened her eyes, realising her head rested against his shoulder, her face somewhat buried in the warmth of his neck. "What is wrong?" She mumbled softly, trying to keep her eyes from falling shut once more.

"Nothing, we are home," He explained in a gentle whisper. "Let me help you out of the carriage so you can go to bed."

"What of Grace?"

He smiled at her as she finally managed to pull herself away from his chest and sit up. "I will tuck her in, you may go to bed." Emma watched him through tired eyes as he stepped out of the carriage offering her his hand. Emma nodded, slipping her hand into his and lifting her skirt just the smallest bit to step out of the carriage, only to have her tired legs give out on her and fall right into his arms.

"Lucky I caught you," Mr Jones smirked. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Milord," She replied, her hands tight around his bicep, dazed by the proximity of his face. "Sorry, Milord."

"Quit apologising. Especially when you have given me an excuse to touch you," He answered as he lifted his hand to skim his fingers over her cheek, the briefest touch of his gentle hands before they wove into her hair.

Emma gasped softly when he backed her up against the carriage. "I did not realise you needed an excuse."

"Darling," He grinned, his voice low and husky. "Who do you take me for?"

"If you wanted an excuse, all you had to do was ask."

"Is that so?" He murmured as he leant closer, bringing his fingers underneath her chin, tenderly lifting it. "Should I still ask?"

"No," Emma breathed, her hands reaching for the lapels of his coat. "You should not."

"Good," He replied, his mouth so close that she could almost feel his lips brush against hers. "Emma."

"Yes?"

"Wake up, darling." She awoke with a gasp, pulling away from him almost instantly. "Easy, you're all right." He said as he reached out for her, brushing the wayward locks from her face. "Nightmare?"

"No," Emma answered, unable to look at him. Instead looking at Grace who still laid on the seat across from them, sleeping soundly underneath her father's coat. "Are we home?"

"Yes," Mr Jones answered, opening the door to the carriage and stepping out. "You may go to bed, if you like."

"But Grace –"

"Do not worry about her, I will bring her to bed," He extended his hand to help her out of the carriage. "Go to bed, you are tired."

"Yes, Milord," Emma answered, carefully accepting his offered hand and lifting her skirt to exit the carriage as gracefully as possible. It occurred to her that things were happening just as they did in her dream. Though there was warmth in his touch, and kindness in his smile, and things did not seem as dreamlike as they had before. With her thoughts occupied by her previous dream, and not with the act of getting out of the carriage, she quickly found herself with his arms around her, her fingers digging into his biceps to steady herself.

"Lucky I caught you," He grinned, looking at her intently. "Are you all right?"

"I–" She released her grip on him immediately and stepped out of his grasp. "Goodnight, Milord." Emma curtsied more out of habit than formality, but refused to look at him as she walked away from him and made for her room.

Emma hadn't realised just how much time had passed in which she sat with her back against the door, her arms wrapped around her legs and her forehead resting onto her knees, trying to calm her frantically beating heart, until a soft knock on her door came and startled her.

"Miss Emma?" Mr Jones' worried voice sounded softly. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Emma answered promptly, then quickly adding, "Milord."

"Are you lying to force me to leave, Miss Emma?" He lightly teased, but the worry was still clearly present.

"Yes, Milord."

"Very well, I merely came to ask if perhaps you wanted to have tea with me in the Grand Salon," He spoke almost shyly.

Emma bit her lip, leaning her head against the door. A trembling sigh escaped her as she stared up at the ceiling.

"I am very tired, Milord. Perhaps another time."

"Of course," Mr Jones said. Emma tried her hardest to ignore the disappointment in his voice, but it was too obvious, and her traitorous heart leapt at it. There was a soft bump at the door, as though he leant his hand against it – or perhaps his head. "Goodnight," He whispered.

"Goodnight," Emma mumbled, so silently that she wondered if he had even heard it. But a brief moment later the door of the servant's hallway opened and closed. And she knew he was gone and it did not matter anymore.

* * *

 _AN:_

 _Woop, as promised, an update within two weeks! Unfortunately I cannot promise that my next one will be here just as fast, but I will promise I won't make you wait three months for it again :P_

 _I hope you like this chapter, as I mentioned before it might not have been as historically accurate as I liked, but I found not everyone minded as much. Also, I admit that after I split this chapter, I realised this was my favourite part, so I'm pretty happy with this chapter!_

 _Thank you for sticking with me, thank you for your kind words, thank you for talking about this fic on twitter, on tumblr - seriously those people who come to me to yell at me for certain parts of a chapter are amazing! Y'all are the best_ ❤ _._

 _And Happy Once Day!_


	14. Fourteen

_Mid-June, 1816._

A few days after their return, life in the mansion went back to normal. Mr Jefferson came by to tutor Grace each day, Mr Jones spent most of his time in his office and the few times Emma brought him tea, she found him scribbling down notes, crafting letters, and reading paperwork. He usually saw her bringing tea as a distraction from whatever task he was performing–"I do not wish to bore you with it," He'd answered when she inquired–and made an attempt at small talk. One time he'd asked her whether she knew how to cook–"Enough not to set the kitchen on fire, Milord."–He'd chuckled at that but made no further mention of it.

Mary Margaret spent a suspicious amount of time in the garden, given that her tasks mostly consisted of making sure everyone had fresh linens on their bed and clean clothes and aprons to wear. And with the gardener greeting her each time with a large smile, Emma had strong suspicions something had happened between them during their absence.

Ruby teased Emma about her adventures in Lady Belle's estate and the Palace gardens, letting the blush on Emma's cheeks spread all over her face. Yet, it appeared as though something was troubling Ruby, but she did not feel inclined to share.

It was the morning of their fourth day home when a visitor arrived. He knocked the door just as Emma walked down the stairs after having left Grace with Mr Jefferson, and so she opened the door to reveal a man who appeared to be a few years older than Mr Jones, but with the same kind blue eyes. He was dressed in riding attire, his top hat held in his hands as he gestured at the mansion with it.

"Would this be Lord Jones' estate?" The man questioned.

"Yes," Emma answered, taking a step aside, "Please, do come in. I shall fetch him for you. You could wait in the Petite Salon, might I bring you some tea?"

"No, thank you," He spoke and grinned at something behind her. "I do not believe I shall be waiting very long." Emma turned around, only to almost collide with Mr Jones. She had noticed that lately he did not care much for proper distance between them. His touches, although polite and chaste, became more frequent, and she found herself longing for them–and detesting the days he did not touch her. Right now, his hand was on her arm, just above her elbow, to steady her or keep her from completely colliding with him, she did not know.

She eyed him curiously, taking in the riding attire. He smiled at her and for a moment she thought he, too, had forgotten about their guest, but then he released his gentle grip on her and turned his attention to the man by the door.

"Did you find it well, Mr Locksley?"

"I did, thank you."

"Miss Emma, this is Robin of Locksley. Robin, this is Miss Emma."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Locksley. Are you both going for a ride?"

"Of sorts," Mr Jones answered with a chuckle. "We will be making an attempt at riding the horses in the stables."

"It ought to be interesting," Mr Locksley agreed, "If they haven't been properly ridden in seven years."

From the halls, Mary Margaret emerged, the blush on her cheeks a clear sign she came from the gardens, the dreamy look in her eyes only confirming it further.

"Miss Mary Margaret," Mr Jones beckoned her, and if her flinch was any indication, he had pulled her from distant thoughts. "Have you seen Nolan?"

"He is by the stables, Milord," She answered, curtsying before retreating to the kitchen.

"Miss Emma," He started quietly, his hand gently on her shoulder. "Would you mind asking Ruby to for some refreshments out in the garden?"

"Yes, Milord," Emma whispered, dipping into a curtsy once before each man.

"No butler, Jones?" She heard Mr Locksley say as they walked away from her in the direction of the garden.

"I had one," Lord Jones replied, "He left during a difficult time and I never bothered to search for another one." The soft chuckle that came in response was the last thing she heard before entering the kitchen.

"Who is that man?" Mary Margaret asked almost immediately as Emma opened the door.

"Mr Jones introduced him as Robin of Locksley, that is all I know," Emma answered with a shrug before turning to Ruby. "Mr Jones has asked to bring them refreshments in the garden."

* * *

The day was spent mostly in the garden, enjoying the early summer temperatures. Emma had taken up her usual spot under the shadows of the willow, but quickly discarded her book when it became apparent to her that she could unashamedly watch Mr Jones ride the horse and have not one person comment on it. Even when Ruby and Mary Margaret joined her on her blanket, no teasing words were spoken. They simply enjoyed some fruit and drinks whilst watching the men as they rode the horses.

Mr Jones did not ride his own horse, he rode his late wife's horse–Emma reasoned it was because he did not want anyone else riding it. Mr Locksley rode Mr Jones' horse, and it appeared to be quite the challenge, the horse had kicked him off once and had made an attempt at doing it a second time, but Mr Locksley turned out to be the more persistent one and eventually the horse started obeying his demands.

David rode Grace's horse, which seemed to disobey the least of all, it almost seemed as though he took pride in being ridden once more. Though once Grace made her appearance outside–already dressed in her riding attire, no surprise there–the animal made a prompt stop and walked over towards her.

David took a glance at Mr Jones, as though to ask permission. Permission which was quickly given to him, whereupon David dismounted the horse and helped Grace onto it instead.

Like the horse itself, Grace rode with pride, happiness clearly visible in her features. Even though she had not ridden her own horse in a while, at her father's request, the horse seemed to respond to her like she had never stopped riding him to begin with.

They only took a break for lunch, and thereafter they rode for a while longer, until the sun started setting, and Mary Margaret and Ruby had left her alone by the willow once more.

She had not realised just how engrossed in the book she was, until something nudged her head. A soft, and slightly sticky, warmth pressing against the back of her head. Turning around she found herself face to face with a horse, she dropped the book to cover her mouth with both hands in an attempt to keep herself from screaming, still a small screech escaped her. The horse itself did not seem very bothered by her reaction, but its rider found her reaction plenty funny. Mr Jones' roaring laugh would have offended her, had he not looked so delightfully handsome and distracting enough for her to forget about offense. He'd discarded his coat as well as his waistcoat earlier, and instead rode his horse in a white shirt that stuck just as much to his body as his hair did to his forehead.

His cheeks were red, due to the sun, his laughter, or physical exercise, Emma had not a clue.

"Are you well?" He asked finally, as he somewhat managed to speak without his own laugh interrupting him.

"I am fine," Emma answered curtly and rose to her feet.

"So, you have truly never ridden a horse before?"

"I have not, Milord," Emma replied, running her fingers through the horse's mane.

"Would you like to?" Emma looked up at him with a frown, determining whether or not he was jesting. But with the sun setting low behind him, it almost made him look as though he was glowing and it distracted her for a moment. "If you can forgive my less than proper attire, and slight stench, I'd be happy, if not honoured, if you'll allow me to take you for a quick ride." He looked at her with a challenging grin, a playful eyebrow raised.

She gave him a careful nod, uncertain of what to expect.

Lord Jones extended his hand to Emma. As she took it he yanked her up to sit behind him and she found herself grasping at the fabric of his shirt with a tight grip. "That's high," She mumbled.

"Just hold on tight, I won't let anything happen to you," He promised with a chuckle.

"All right," She agreed. He reached behind him, taking her arms and guiding them to wrap around his waist. Emma's breath caught and it took her a moment to regain control of her train of thought. She startled as the horse started moving abruptly, and strengthened her grip on him, she felt Mr Jones' hand on hers, soothingly brushing his fingers over the back of her hand as the horse walked.

They strolled around the garden first–Grace and Mr Locksley seemingly paying no attention to them–before he entered the forest behind the garden, leaving the others behind them as they disappeared behind the tree line.

Once the mansion was out of sight, he let the reigns looser, letting his hand rest over hers as the horse leisurely strolled through the forest.

Along the ride she eased a little, releasing her death grip on Lord Jones who undoubtedly enjoyed the feeling of not having someone trying to squeeze his guts out. The horse had a calm pace and Emma rested her cheek against his shoulder as they rode along a creek, the lapping sound of the water following them wherever they went and the setting sun that seeped through the leaves of the trees, casting warm rays upon her face.

It felt like hours since they'd entered the forest, and at the same time it seemed as though time had stopped moving all together.

"Have you enjoyed yourself?" He asked softly, breaking a silence that was previously only filled with the chirping of the birds. She looked up at him only to be taken back by the proximity of his face. But by the way he did not tease her about it, and the way he stared at her intently, awaiting her response, she knew something troubled his mind.

"I have, have you?"

"I had forgotten how liberating it was to ride a horse," He answered with the barest smile on his lips.

"Might I ask," Emma started carefully. "Why you are riding this horse, and not your own?"

He gave her a sad smile, it should have been answer enough, but he spoke up, still. "I cannot let anyone else ride her. But it is a lonely feeling." Suddenly he pulled back and held the reigns back in a more properly fashion.

Emma barely suppressed a groan as she realised the horse had brought them home already. She did not want to give up resting her head against his shoulder. She did not want to give up being so close to him. She did not want to give up the nonexistent space between them.

Once returned to the stables where David and August were brushing the other two horses, he helped her off the horse; his hands on her waist and lifting her off the horse as though it was no trouble at all.

Like the true gentleman he often insisted he was, he offered her his arm as both of them walked back to the garden where Mr Locksley stood with Grace excitedly talking to him.

"We will be having dinner in the Dining Room," Mr Jones announced.

"Yes, Milord," Emma answered with a small curtsy and turned away from him. His hand that reached out to her, and grabbed her lower arm before she was too far away, surprised her. She turned around to face him, but he did not release her, though his gentle grip was hardly unpleasant.

"No, Miss Emma," He spoke with his thumb stroking back and forth over the exposed skin of her wrist. "That includes you."

"Milord?" Emma questioned, looking behind him where Grace stood with Mr Locksley. Mr Locksley stood with his hands in his pockets whilst Grace had her hands behind her back, both their gazes averted to the grass. But the grins that played around their lips betrayed they were merely pretending that they were not paying attention to the conversation happening before them.

"Unless you do not want to. But I am certain Grace would enjoy having you there." He looked away from her briefly, averting his eyes to the grass as he brought his free hand to scratch behind his ear. Then he looked right at her, all the shyness pushed away and made space for the boldness that came up more often these past few days. Mr Jones lowered his voice, taking a small step closer. "As would I."

Emma nodded. "Then, I shall inform Ruby and Mary Margaret that I will not be dining with them."

"Of course," He spoke with a curt nod of his head.

As she walked away from them, she allowed the smile she had been holding back to finally appear on her lips. Today had been quite extraordinary, the weather had been brilliant, the day passing by with calm ease. But today had also marked a not unwelcome change in his demeanour. He had touched her more times than a husband would his wife, and even though her mind shouted at her each time for it, her heart leapt at each shared gaze, each shared touch. She loathed to admit, even to herself, but she found herself hoping she would one day find herself wrapped up in his embrace.

Emma did not quite know what to expect when she opened the kitchen door, but seeing Mary Margaret and David sharing a rather unchaste kiss was definitely not it.

They broke apart, each taking a step away from the other like it would erase the image from Emma's mind.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, her voice high, her cheeks beet red.

"I apologise." Emma grinned, raising an eyebrow. "I did not realise I was supposed to knock?"

"We were not expecting anyone to walk in here," David explained shyly.

A playful scoff escaped Emma. "No, that much was clear."

"Emma–please do not tell him," Mary Margaret pleaded, stepping closer towards her friend and taking Emma's hands in hers as if to emphasise her plea.

"Tell who? Mr Jones? Why would I tell him?"

"You two are spending a lot of time lately," Mary Margaret offered with a shrug. "I do not know. I simply wish for us to keep our positions in his household. If he finds out–"

"I will not tell him, Mary Margaret. I promise, I would never. But perhaps do not share kisses in a room where people may just walk in at any point?"

David chuckled and nodded. "That might be a good idea."

"Does Ruby know?"

"Oh yes," Ruby walked inside, a large grin on her lips. "Ruby knows. But Ruby knows everything, does she not?"

"Yes," Emma agreed with a chuckle. "Well, I only wanted to come say that Mr Jones has asked for dinner do be served in the Dining Room, and that I will not be dining with you."

"Oh?"

"Mr Jones has invited me to dine with Grace, Mr Locksley and himself."

" _Oh_."

"Stop that," Emma said as she crossed her arms and averted her gaze.

"Looks like expressions of affection are a common thing today," Ruby teased.

"It is not– He simply–" Emma started her stammer before throwing up her arms in defeat. "It is just dinner," She spoke firmly. "I will get changed now, I'd loathe to attend dinner all foul-smelling."

"Wear something voluptuous!" Ruby called after her as she left the kitchen with an unforgiving blush spreading across her cheeks. With the thoughts occupying her mind, each dress she owned, though few in number, suddenly seemed _voluptuous,_ and she certainly did not want to give any wrong impression, certainly not in front of his friend. And so she decided on a simple, soft-green gown, decidedly _not_ voluptuous.

During dinner, Grace had sat next to her father, quietly accepting that she could not sit next to Emma. Mr Jones and Mr Locksley spoke of the horses, mostly using terms Emma had never even heard of. Mr Jones said he considered buying another horse, looking briefly at Emma, and asked Mr Locksley whether he would be willing to lend his expertise when he went to search for one–he was.

Even though she rarely brought dinner out herself on other days, today Ruby came along each time to serve plates. Emma expected Ruby only did so, so that she could tease Emma each time, which she did by excessive winking, raising suggestive eyebrows, and an occasional pat on the shoulder after putting down the plate in front of her. Mr Jones had no idea.

A short while after dinner Mr Locksley announced he would be returning home, saying he had abused their hospitality for far too long already. Mr Jones brushed off the excuses, but made no real objections to his departure. He appeared tired, and somewhere in his eyes Emma could see he longed for a moment of solitude. Still, when he looked at her, there was something else in his eyes that she could not–or dared not–lay her finger on.

As they watched the men bid their goodbyes, Grace held on to Emma's hand and resting her head against her arm. It was a mere half an hour before her bedtime, but weariness had already overcome her.

"Next time you should bring your wife and son. He is about Grace's age, is he not? They might enjoy each other's company."

"A few years older, I believe," Mr Locksley agreed.

"Well, consider them invited next time."

"I will," Mr Locksley smiled and stepped into the carriage.

* * *

After putting Grace to bed, Emma found herself at the kitchen table with Ruby, watching her attentively as she made the bread. By now Emma had seen her make the bread so many times, she was certain she could do it herself, but the way Ruby kneaded the dough was an art form Emma would never be able to master.

"Ruby?" Emma questioned, tracing her fingers through the flour that had made its way across the table.

"Yes?" She replied with a puff, folding the dough into a ball-shape, placing it into a bowl and laying a kitchen towel over it.

"Is Lady Belle your lover?" Ruby looked up with an almost panicked look. "I am sorry, I should not have pried."

"No, I..." She let out a shaky breath and plopped down on her chair.

Emma lowered her voice to a whisper. "I won't tell."

Ruby smiled and shook her head. "I know you won't, Emma. It is simply… It would hurt her a lot more than it would me."

"I understand. But I promise you, I have no intention of telling anyone."

"How did you know?"

"When I was at her estate, she told me she did not love her husband, but she did have a love. When Mr Jones joined us, Lady Belle asked him if perhaps her love might visit again soon. Also, I've seen letters arrive from Lady Belle addressed to you. I can be quite clever." Emma teased.

Ruby smiled. "She asked for me?"

"Well, not by name. But yes. And when we left she gave Lord Jones something for you. And said to tell you that she misses you."

"Well, he has not done so," Ruby sighed, leaning her chin on her floured hand, effectively leaving her chin in a thin dusting of flour.

"I do not think he forgot," Emma offered, "But he seems busy, perhaps he might tell you at a later time."

"Perhaps. In any event, I am happy you know now. I did not like keeping this from you, but I did not do it because I don't trust you. It is simply not something anyone outside our household should know. And with Killian being the way he was, I did not think you would be staying as long as you did. But after you stayed... I did not think this was something I could simply slip into a conversation."

"I understand, Ruby. I am curious though, are others aware?"

"Aside from Mary Margaret, only Killian, though I am fairly certain that David knows as well. Mary Margaret isn't necessarily good at keeping secrets when it comes to keeping them from people she likes." Emma laughed softly at that. "I admit I was jealous of you," Ruby sighed, tracing her fingers through the flour on the table surface. "If you weren't here, Mr Jones would have asked me to come with Grace to visit Belle."

"I am sorry," Emma whispered.

Ruby reached out with her flour dusted hand to grasp Emma's. "Don't be. Maybe Killian lets me visit again soon. Besides, I believe you had quite an enjoyable time in Versailles." She tossed a wink at Emma and looked up when the door opened. Mary Margaret and David entered, their cheeks a soft pink.

"Goodness," Ruby gave them a wolf-like grin, "I do hope you used protection."

"Ruby!" Mary Margaret scolded, Emma did not think it possible, but her cheeks grew even redder.

"Protection of what?" Emma questioned.

"Emma, I truly cannot believe you have lived with us for so long and still maintain that innocence," Ruby sighed with a giant smile.

"What were you talking about?" David asked as he sat down.

"Certainly, change the subject lest your cheeks start resembling tomatoes." Emma snorted and shook her head. "David," Ruby spoke solemnly, her tone suddenly far different from the teasing voice she had previously employed. "You know, do you not?"

"Know what?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Lady Belle?" Ruby suggested, still not revealing too much.

He shared a glance with Mary Margaret, and then nodded. "Yes."

"Good, just making sure."

"You're not angry?" Mary Margaret asked.

"No, but let us keep it between the four of us–and Killian."

Mary Margaret took a quick look at Emma and gave her a small smile.

"Doesn't Mr Jones keep an interesting household?" David laughed softly.

"How so?" Emma questioned.

"He has a man in his employment who would otherwise not get a job due to his foot injury. He has a woman in his household who has been publicly disgraced because she has a child without a father. I've lost count, but plenty of us are orphans."

"And then there is me, who could be sentenced to death over whom I prefer to bed," Ruby chuckled softly, but there was no fear in her voice. She trusted the people she told to keep her secret. She knew she would never be in danger of the wrong person finding out.

"It's true," Mary Margaret said, a dreaming smile on her lips. "Mr Jones' household is an assortment of misfit strays and broken souls."

"Odd. He does not actively search for them, does he?" Ruby grinned.

"No, we find each other," Emma spoke. "We find this broken household with these broken people and we choose to stay because we can make it our home without judgement, when most of us never had one to begin with."

"Us misfits love and care for each other," Mary Margaret agreed. In the moment of soft murmurs of assent, the door opened and everyone rose to their feet as Lord Jones stepped into the kitchen. David had released Mary Margaret's hand immediately, keeping it firmly beside him now.

"Speaking of misfits," Ruby winked.

"Miss Ruby?" Mr Jones beckoned her closer. "A word, outside?"

"Is this about Belle?" He frowned and arched an eyebrow. "I recognise the pouch. She's given it to me before. I don't have to step outside."

"Very well." He offered her the pouch of coins Lady Belle had given him just before they left her estate. "She told me to tell you that she misses you."

Ruby smiled, more to herself than anything as she accepted the pouch. "Thank you for the message. I have already received it, however." Ruby glanced at Emma.

Mr Jones nodded. "I've something else for you," He cleared his throat softly. He handed her the envelope he'd held nervously in his hand upon entering. "I understand that I cannot bribe Lady Belle into forgiving me, nor can I bribe you. So please do not accept this gift as a bribe, but a token of gratitude, for taking care Grace when I could not do it myself."

Ruby laughed softly as she accepted the envelope. "When will you understand that whatever forgiveness you seek still, it is already been given to you."

"I will seek it for as long as I cannot deem myself to have earned it."

Ruby sighed and opened the envelope, her eyes growing wide suddenly, and in her surprise she nearly dropped the envelope. "Killian." And just like that she crossed that thin line that had always been there between them. The line where their relationship differed from being Lord and servant to being friends who cared about each other. "This is too much, I cannot accept."

"I insist."

"But... Two weeks?"

"You have earned it, you have spent so long taking care of me that you barely got to see her. I understand it is not enough, but perhaps it can help a little to make up for lost time."

"Two weeks, though? I believe you are forgetting who runs the kitchen here, who will–"

"I've come to understand that Miss Emma and Miss Mary Margaret are excellent cooks as well, your kitchen will be left in capable hands." Emma smiled to herself, suddenly understanding why he had posed the question if she knew the art of cooking.

"But the chores, I couldn't–"

"Ruby. Please look at the date."

"Tomorrow! I would leave tomorrow?"

"Yes, and from what I have seen before, you can certainly use the time you are now spending disobeying me, and use it to pack your suitcases instead."

"I am offended," Ruby said as she pursed her lips, but her smile was still evidently playing on her features.

"Of course you are."

"Thank you, Killian," She spoke, drawing him in for a quick hug, one he reciprocated by stiffly patting her back once. And then she practically skipped out of the kitchen, forgetting about Emma, or the bread she had prepared all together.

Somewhere between Mr Jones' entrance to the kitchen and Ruby's departure, David and Mary Margaret had quietly left as well. Thus leaving Emma seated alone by the table, and Mr Jones stood by the window, one second scratching behind his ear, the next clasping his hands and nervously fiddling with his fingers.

The fire Ruby had lit for her bread–of which the dough still sat in its bowl to rise–casting warm rays of heat upon her back. It crackled softly, keeping the kitchen from falling in complete silence.

Emma exhaled softly, preparing herself to speak up–of what, she did not know.

But he filled the silence first, "Tea?"

"Certainly," Emma spoke as she hastily rose from her chair, its legs scraping over the stone flooring with a screech. "Shall I bring it to your office or will you be having it in the Grand Salon?"

"No, I– I meant, would you like to have tea with me?" He coughed softly and once more scratched behind his ear. "I ought not to have asked you by using one word only. Forgive my poor manners, I am tired."

"Perhaps you might go to bed instead, Milord?" Emma offered as she put a kettle over the fire.

"I will. After I have had my tea," He promised with a low chuckle.

"Yes, Milord."

"It occurs to me you have never called me Killian."

"I have, once."

"Once," He chuckled. "Ruby calls me by my name all the time. Particularly when she is fed up with me."

"Ruby has been in your service far longer than I have," Emma explained. "She knows when to call you by your name and when not to, she knows when you mind and when you do not."

"When it comes to you, I would never mind."

"Are you giving me permission to use your name, Milord?"

"I am," He said.

"Well, then you ought to know I will not be using it."

"And why is that? If I might inquire?"

"I find it crosses a line."

"And you have never done _that_ before, have you?"

"This is not a line that should be crossed," Emma said firmly as she set two cups of tea on the table. He looked up at her from his spot across the table. "I can't..."

"I understand," Mr Jones said softly. "What of me addressing you as Emma instead of using Miss? Would you be alright with that, or would that be crossing a line as well?" She searched his eyes for mockery, but it was a genuine request. And while she knew she should have said yes, she could not help herself and shook her head.

The smile that appeared on his lips made her heart flutter.

"Perhaps we might go for a ride tomorrow?" He offered, changing the subject to something that would not have her cheeks colour beet red. "You, Grace and I."

"If you believe after having sat on a horse for ten minutes I would be capable of riding a horse, you would be dead wrong, Sir," Emma laughed, putting a spoonful of honey in her tea.

"Perhaps not, but you should learn, still. If you will allow me, I would like to buy you your own horse for those days I am not home and Grace wishes to go for a ride."

"What? No. Absolutely not."

Mr Jones chuckled, "Will you stop me?"

"I cannot let you do this," Emma said as she crossed her arms before her. "It would be too much."

"And if I said I'd done it for Miss Charlotte as well?" Emma frowned, groundless jealousy suddenly overcoming her and she barely registered his words as he continued to talk. "The horse would be yours, of course. Should you decide to leave, you might take it with you, as Miss Charlotte has done." If he'd done this for her, what if he'd done other things as well? What if Emma was not as special as he often made her feel like she was? Perhaps he had once made Miss Charlotte feel the same way as he did Emma.

He reached out over the table, pulling her from her thoughts by laying his hand on her arm, his thumb tracing over her wrist. His touch was warm, his brush sending shivers over her arms. But he did not notice because he stared at her with such an intense gaze it almost seemed as if he was trying to read her thoughts, and for a moment Emma was afraid he could.

"Are you jealous, darling?" He teased, his tongue curling around the word. She tensed as she gazed at his lips and the way they shaped into a grin after posing his teasing question.

"No," Emma answered as she rose to her feet, Lord Jones quickly following as though she was some important lady. She stared at him, noticing how flustered he was at how fast he stood up when she did, he wordlessly confirmed his embarrassment by scratching behind his ear. "I am going to bed," She announced.

Mr Jones nodded as he stepped closer towards her and took her hands in his to hold them between his chest and her own before lifting it to his lips. There was something in his eyes as he looked at her, the way he held her hand in his. When he looked at her so intently she felt her stomach flutter, and somewhere she knew, if anything had ever happened between Miss Charlotte and himself, it was nothing like this. She would not have given herself to another man.

"Goodnight, Emma," He whispered against her knuckles, pressing down a soft kiss.

Emma bit her lip to hide a smile. "Goodnight, Milord."

* * *

 ** _AN:_**

 _Woah, look at me updating before another month has passed. Interesting. (Please don't get too high expectations now, I'd hate to disappoint.)_

 _I do have two questions. Sort of. One is a question, the other some sort of announcement._

 _I have an entire folder on this fic, containing resources, character descriptions, timelines and the like. But also another folder, which at this point already contains seven documents. The documents being deleted scenes. Now, when I say scenes, I mean, some documents are 500 words long, some over 1000, but they either don't fit in this fic because I have nowhere to put it, or they are scenes written after I have long posted the chapters where the scenes could take place in. So my question is this one: would you be interested in me posting them - as a separate "story" or not?_

 _The 'announcement' is this: Killian is still writing his letters, and I think at this point in time, everyone–except Emma, that is–knows he's not writing to Grace. And as I've been asked for more insight to Killian's mind, but I don't plan on writing more chapters in Killian's POV, I thought publishing the letters as a separate story would be a way around that. So, in a way, you can still see how Killian deals with this situation. You know, if you're interested in that, of course. I've written a few letters already, but my main project is this fic, obviously._

 _In any event, thank you so, so, so, so much for your comments, reviews and all, I am so lucky and grateful._


	15. Fifteen

_Early July, 1816._

"Has he returned yet?" Emma asked upon entering the kitchen after putting Grace to bed with the promise of waking her as soon as her father returned to the estate. _If_ indeed he would return tonight. Earlier that afternoon he had ordered the carriage to be prepared, and without another word he had left the mansion. Now, just a little past nine, he had still not returned, and worry was shared by the servants.

"No," Ruby answered, stepping closer to draw her friend into her arms. "He will come home, he always does."

Emma sighed deeply, resting her head onto Ruby's shoulder. "I know," She whispered. "I'm worried nonetheless."

"I understand," Ruby spoke, brushing her hand through Emma's hair.

"Everything all right?" David questioned as he walked in the kitchen. Ruby and Emma released each other, Emma giving her a thankful smile as she stepped away from her, and took seats next to each other at the kitchen table.

"Killian left by carriage earlier this afternoon and he has not yet returned," Ruby answered.

"Perhaps he is meeting with someone. I seem to recall a telegram from a… What was his name again? Mr William something… Avery, I believe? Either way, it arrived this morning."

Emma shuddered. "Avery is correct. Highly unpleasant man."

Ruby agreed with a hum. "His daughter is lovely though. Odd that a man as unpleasant as him could raise a darling such as her."

"I do not believe I have met this Mr Avery yet?"

"Count your blessings," Ruby chuckled. "He has had four wives over the course of his life and rumour has it he is searching for number five."

"Four?" Emma exclaimed. "Did they all die?"

"The first one did. His second filed for a divorce. I cannot recall what happened to the third. And the fourth simply left him and never returned. I believe he technically might still be married to her. Or perhaps he had it called void?"

"Sounds like a very pleasant man indeed," David laughed. Emma looked up at the sound of a carriage driving onto the property, rising from her chair as she recognised the driver as Thomas.

"He is home," She mumbled as she ran out of the kitchen. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she stood by the door waiting for it to open. Emma did not want to open it herself–she did not want to seem that desperate. A quick glance to her left showed David and Ruby had not followed her into the hall, and for a moment she felt so far beyond alone.

But in a few seconds, he would walk through the door with a crooked grin and tease her for being worried, and he would assure her she had absolutely no reason to do so.

The door open with a quiet creak, pulling her from her thoughts, her breath caught in her throat as she watched Mr Jones entering slowly stumbling inside, Thomas by his side to keep him upright. The sight of Mr Jones was one Emma had not seen in a while. His cheeks were red, walk resembling slumping more than anything, his cravat hanging loose around his neck. The buttons of his waistcoat were partially opened, and partially missing. A bruised eye, and a thin trail of blood dripping from his lips down to his shirt where it left a stain. The rain that had been pouring from the sky had stuck his hair to his forehead, and the raindrops had left their mark on his vest and shirt.

"Ruby!" Emma called out with a shaky voice, unable to move when Mr Jones noticed her at last. His look one of shame and despair.

"Emma," He spoke her name in a pained whisper. Lord Jones brushed Thomas away from him and stumbled forward and practically fell into her.

He laid his arms around her, his embrace more resembling someone searching for steadiness than someone giving a hug. He felt heavy and not at all how she had hoped to be buried in his arms.

"I am sorry, I am so sorry." He mumbled over and over again, burying his nose in her hair, his whispered words a plea for forgiveness. "I am sorry."

His body trembled against hers and Emma wanted to hold him, to hug him and tell him everything was going to be all right. But as she fought with herself over what was proper and what felt right, Ruby and a handful of other servants had come to Emma's aid. Or rather, they all stared at her as she stood frozen in space with Mr Jones holding her tightly. All except for Ruby of course, who gave everyone that had gathered around them a glare that made most them scurry away from the foyer, before gently peeling Mr Jones away from Emma.

"What happened?" Ruby asked. "God, you reek of alcohol." The disappointed undertone in her voice made him hang his head in shame. Certainly, she had not meant to do it, but it was clear to Emma that Ruby was scared he would be falling back into old habits. "Can you take him upstairs, I shall bring you a bucket of water."

David offered his assistance in helping Mr Jones upstairs–assistance Mr Jones reluctantly accepted–though once upstairs he went back downstairs, leaving them alone.

Mr Jones' room was pleasantly warm with the fire by his bed gently cracking, whoever was responsible for lighting the fires had been more confident of his return than Emma had been. She helped him to sit at the back of his bed and before long Ruby arrived with the bucket of water. She asked whether she needed to remain in the room, but Emma knew it was a mere offer out of a sense of duty, not necessarily because she wanted to; it was confirmed when Emma thanked her for the offer but refused, and Ruby gave her a thankful smile.

In the brief moment Emma spoke with Ruby, Mr Jones had moved from his spot at the foot end of his bed to the floor, sitting slouched on the floor by the fire as he leant against his bed.

"So, what happened?" Emma asked, kneeling before him. She ran her hand through the lukewarm water of the bucket and soaked the cloth in it. The shame he felt was apparent in everything he did, the way he refused to look at her, the way he sat crouched, leaning away from her when she kneeled beside him. It hurt her how she had seen him in worse situations than this, and still did not realise she would aid him each time he needed it.

"Avery said he had something to ask me," Mr Jones said, shrugging and then wincing in pain. "I assumed we'd be remaining at his estate, he brought me to a pub instead. I told him I did not drink anymore, but he insisted. And I was weak." He sighed, closing his eyes as Emma gently dabbed the cloth against his bruised cheek. "We shared a drink... multiple drinks. And then he asked me the thing for which he'd invited me over in the first place."

"Which was?"

Finally, he looked up, gazing at her briefly, watching her movements carefully, the way her hands wrung out the bloodstained cloth before returning to wipe the blood off his cheek carefully and how she inched closer to properly clean the other side of his face.

"Not important," He answered quietly, averting his eyes back to his lap where he toyed with a strip of fabric–his cravat, Emma realised quickly–in his bruised hands. "I hit him first."

"It was not important, yet you hit him?" Emma scoffed as she shook her head slightly.

"I do not wish to share."

Emma hummed in response shuffling just a bit closer until her knees touched his thigh, examining the thin trail of blood that had seeped from his chin down to his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt.

"Must I take it off?" He asked, suddenly making her very aware of what she was doing. She had meant nothing by it; to get a better idea of how far the trail went, she had tugged the fabric of his shirt down.

The action had been utmost innocent, but the way he arched his eyebrow and his lips curved into a grin, her mind travelled to less appropriate thoughts.

Where she would give up on the attempt to clean him and give in to the urge to sit on top of him instead. Where her chest was pressed up against his. Her fingers woven into his chest hair, or wrapped around his neck to sit as close against him as possible. His hands tugging impatiently at the laces of her dress. Kissing him until her lips were senseless, whispering words of desire between the kisses. Teeth tugging at lips until they were bruised and swollen. Feeling his hardened length press between her legs, and grinding herself down to hear him moan into her mouth. The sound of his moan adding to the heat building between her legs.

And–

"Wherever your mind has wandered off, darling, do invite me next time. It seems like the most pleasurable place."

"Wh- what?" Emma frowned, looking away from him in search of the bucket behind her. One moment with a thought like this had disoriented her completely.

He grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and made her face him.

"Whatever occupied your thoughts, it has left your pupils blown wide, your breathing uneven, and you have shifted four times, clenching your legs each time. I recognise a lustful woman."

"I'm not–"

"You don't have to deny it," He teased, his tone a far cry from the shameful one earlier. She preferred this one, even if it did not help the warmth that had settled between her legs at her improper thoughts. "I shan't be convinced."

"Very well, then I shall not try," Emma spoke, brushing his hand away from her face.

He grinned, the way he tilted his head and licked his lips was almost sinful, "Would you care to indulge me?"

"Absolutely not," She scoffed. Mr Jones' grin disappeared, but the lustful look remained. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the alcohol that gave him this look. "To answer your previous question. I need to clean up the blood on your neck. So, yes, please take off your shirt–unless you would prefer to it yourself and have me out of the room for it."

"Not at all," He chuckled. "I would despair if you did. Perhaps I might see you go back to where your mind had been before, it was quite an interesting sight."

"I am sure I don't know what you mean. But I shall forgive you for this bluntness, for you are still intoxicated and clearly not in your right state of mind."

"On the contrary, I am quite well," He stated and looked down at his waistcoat, of the seven buttons, two were missing, three were undone, and his bruised hands struggled to open the remaining ones. He sighed deeply, as she brushed his hands away, letting her unbutton his waistcoat. "I am sorry, Emma. For making such a mess of things again."

"I am not the one you should apologise to, Sir."

"I will apologise to Grace first thing in the morning," He promised quietly.

"No, Milord. Yourself. You did this to yourself. Any forgiveness you seek will be yours to give."

"I would like to know whether you forgive me as well."

"Why?" Emma asked, carefully peeling off each layer of clothes. She had done this before, so many months ago, when she did not know him. When all she knew of him was how more often than not he required assistance undressing due to his intoxicated state. And she realised how different things were now.

Her burning red cheeks were no longer due to her finding the entire situation improper, but due to her mind conjuring up images even less proper. Drifting to situations in which she would not be redressing him into sleeping garments, but where they would lie naked between the sheets together.

"Because you matter to me, Emma," He whispered, cupping her cheek intending to make her look up at him. His cool hand soothed her burning cheeks, his thumb stroked gently over her cheekbones, but she dared not look at him. Her eyes remained focused on her hands, the drops of water that trailed down from her wrists as she ran the cloth over his bare collar. He had no visible injury below his chest, or at least not as far as she dared see. Emma had already gotten a glimpse of the mass of dark hair that covered his chest, trailing down his abdomen and disappearing into his trousers, and it had completely thrown her off the trail. "Emma?"

She looked up at him at last, finding his eyes filled with worry. Emma nodded quickly.

"Of course I forgive you," She answered softly, taking his hand in hers, almost wishing she was bold enough to kiss the palm of his hand, instead she let it fall into his lap and rose to her feet, searching for sleeping garments in his wardrobe. "Mistakes happen, it does not mean you should be condemned forever."

He chuckled emptily from his spot beside his bed. "I've seven years worth of mistakes, that cannot be so easily redeemed."

"It _can_ when someone loves you," She cleared her throat, hoping he was still intoxicated enough so that he did not realise what she had just admitted. "And contrary to what you might believe, Milord, Grace absolutely adores you."

He smiled, nodded, but made no further comment and instead rubbed his hands over his face.

"Is something else troubling you?" Emma questioned as she handed him the small stack of clothes, trusting he could redress himself this time.

"I am scared," He admitted. "About leaving."

"You've left before. What is different now?" He looked up at her, his eyes speaking for him. And if a response was coming at all, she did not want to hear it. "Oh," She whispered, staring at her hands. "Well, I am certain it will be fine." She spoke as she made way for the door. "Goodn–"

He'd stepped right before her, quicker than she expected him to be able to in his current state. His bare chest still did not leave her unaffected. His trousers hung loosely around his hips where he'd started to unbutton them. Upon meeting his eyes she expected a teasing grin, perhaps a joke about how she'd blatantly stared at him. But nothing had been further from the truth; his hazy eyes were begging.

"Stay." He whispered, not necessarily an order, more a plea. "Stay. Please."

"I can't–"

"You can have my bed, I will sleep on the floor. Stay." Once more he reached for her, but she pulled back to step past him, her hand on the doorknob when he spoke again. "Do not leave me, Emma, please."

"I won't leave you," She whispered and turned around to face him once more. He'd followed her and somehow she knew that if she'd stepped out of the room, he would have followed her. "I cannot stay, Milord. You ought to realise the idea that would plant in the others' minds?"

"I don't care about that," He mumbled, swaying closer until he nearly had her pinned between the door and himself. Her hand shot up involuntarily, pressing it against his bare chest to keep him from touching her.

"But I do," Emma answered, keeping her eyes locked with his in an attempt to ignore the firm drumming of his heart beneath her fingertips. "And once you are properly sober in the morning, you will too." He hummed shortly, leaning a hand against the door behind her.

"Are you certain I cannot persuade you to stay with me?" The question came paired with the faintest tracing of his fingertips along her jaw line. This time his question was in stark contrast with the innocence with which he had posed the same question a bare few minutes ago, and it had completely caught her off guard.

"No," Emma spoke, though her answer sounded more like a lascivious gasp, especially with her chest rising and falling quickly. The way he unabashedly looked at her chest, his tongue darting out just the slightest bit to wet his lips, did nothing to aid her growing desire.

"You are not very convincing, love." He'd lowered his voice to a murmur, each coarsely pronounced word only adding to her need. Her body begged to be touched, drawn to him like a magnet and it became increasingly difficult to pull away from him.

"I am _trying_ ," She offered quietly.

His lips formed into a grin. "Then I ought to step back, lest you agree to do something you will regret."

"And yourself?" Emma asked, the question having escaped her before she could stop herself.

His grin grew as he pushed himself against her hand on his chest, rendering its intention useless as he simply closed the gap between them. A firmness pressed low against her belly and her eyes grew wide when the realisation dawned upon her.

"No regrets on my part," He promised.

"I can't." Her whisper sounded almost like a sob falling over her trembling lips. He gave her a gentle smile as he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip.

"I know," He whispered. As he stepped away a coldness took place where his body had touched hers. She instantly missed his warmth pressed up against her, and she knew that to get it back, all she had to do was reach out for him. And then he winked at her, a devious grin settling on his lips. "I shall simply have to take care of myself tonight."

* * *

Emma sat reading by the fire in the Grand Salon, leaning on a heap of pillows, tucked underneath a blanket. Like the previous days, the day had been dreary for the most part, sometimes the sun would come through, however mostly rain fell mercilessly from the sky. So when Grace returned from her lessons with Mr Jefferson, she plopped on the sofa next to Emma, nearly sitting on her feet, with a deep, bored sigh.

"He promised we'd go riding, but I do not think we will go now."

"Would you expect him still to go for a ride with this weather?"

"No," Grace pouted. "I simply hoped we would be spending time together before he leaves tomorrow."

"I understand," Emma answered and shut her book. "Has Mr Jefferson given you any tasks?"

"Not today," Grace said. Her word was truthful, but Emma still responded with a frown. Grace had always been given tasks, what made today different? "Perhaps he has not done so because father is leaving tomorrow, so that I can spend time with father," Grace offered.

Emma laughed softly, "Perhaps."

"Where is father anyway?"

"In his office, I believe, shall I fetch him for you?"

"No, I will do it."

When Grace entered the room again, her father followed closely, carrying the large dollhouse he'd given her last Christmas and putting it down on the rug by the fire.

Mr Jones greeted her with a sheepish smile. After last night, not many words had been spoken between the two of them; just the simple apology on his part. He had not gone out of his way to avoid her, but he had not actively sought her out. Even when she brought him tea and a quick bite to eat around noon, he seemed absentminded and gave her nothing but short and quiet answers.

The bruise on his cheekbone was fainter than she remembered, the cut near his lip hidden by his ever-present stubble.

Though by his current smile Emma could tell that if he was still worried about leaving, he was hiding it. For Grace likely.

As Grace started playing with her dolls, Mr Jones disappeared into the library, returning a short moment later holding a book in his hands. He quietly sat down on the empty sofa.

Last night had certainly changed things between them, and Emma was not too sure whether it was for the better. He'd offered her his bed and if she had accepted, she would have finally known what it would be like to feel his lips on her own–among other things. But she grew scared and had refused him.

Now she had the knowledge that after she left his chamber, he had very likely dropped his trousers, taken himself in his hand and thought of her as he gave himself the release he craved. Though she couldn't exactly say she'd lain innocently in her bed, either.

Grace's constant sighing made it hard for either of them to focus on the literature in their hands–or the thoughts in their heads–and often shared a glance which resulted in amused smiles as they looked away once the gaze was met.

It was Mr Jones who eventually gave in when the obvious cry for attention became a particularly loud sigh.

"What is it, Gracie?"

"I am bored, father."

"Perhaps we might play cards?" He suggested, laying down his book on the side table, already knowing he would not be doing much more reading.

"No, thank you," Grace answered, her tone quite disinterested. She did not bother looking up from where she was playing with her dolls.

"How about a trick, then?" Mr Jones asked. That caught her attention, the doll still firmly in her hand, but she looked up this time, at least.

"What sort of trick?"

Mr Jones got up from the sofa and searched the drawers of the cabinet near the clock, making a small _aha_ sound upon finding a deck of cards, and knelt down before Emma who had left her spot on the sofa and sat down on the rug instead.

"You'll have to come closer to see," Lord Jones said, giving a nonchalant shrug, though it clearly ached him still.

"Fine." Grace sighed exasperatedly as she tossed her dolls to the side and sat down next to Emma on the floor.

"For this trick," Mr Jones started, lowering his voice to make it sound mysterious, "I will need an innocent hand." Grace straightened her shoulders proudly, extending her hand to him already. Mr Jones scoffed, though he could not hold back the smile that already started tugging at his lips. "Grace, darling, I said innocent. I believe I shall take Emma's instead." Emma snorted, hiding her grin behind her hand before holding it out for him.

She picked a card, showing it to Grace per Mr Jones request–Queen of Hearts–and then putting it back into the stack.

"Milady, it has been a while since I performed this trick. So perhaps, might I be so bold as to ask for a kiss for luck?"

Emma frowned, her heart suddenly pounding fiercely in her chest, certainly he could not have meant what he said.

Then he extended his hand, and almost involuntarily, she laid her hand in his. The gesture so familiar between the two of them. As he brushed his lips against her knuckles, kissing them softly, he grinned and gave her a wink that did nothing to aid her frantically beating heart.

As he laid out the deck of cards on the floor, she'd noticed it was not a complete deck. Some cards were missing, and one was in there twice. She thought nothing of it; the deck was old and well used, or perhaps it was not at all meant for playing cards, but instead for fooling spectators. Grace seemed not to have noticed, so Emma remained quiet.

"Might I ask for your hand?"

"You may," Emma spoke softly before her mind could wander off to a different situation in which he could have posed the same question. He held her hand above the cards, moving slowly before abruptly stopping above the Queen of Hearts. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk. "Is this your card?"

"Emma told you!" Grace exclaimed before Emma could even speak up. "She must have squeezed your hand or something of the like."

"I did no such thing!" Emma pulled her hand away from Mr Jones to cross her arms.

Grace eyed them both suspiciously, before looking back at her father. "Do another trick?"

While she had a vague idea of how the first trick worked, this one had her completely dumbfounded. She watched his hands so carefully, still, the card Grace had picked and held tightly pressed between her hands was in her father's hand instead, and the card that was in Grace's hand was a different one altogether.

"How did you do that?" Grace asked with a confused tilt of her head. "I held it– do it again."

Mr Jones was just about to do the trick again, with Emma this time, when Ruby entered the Grand Salon and announced dinner.

* * *

Emma closed the curtains in the Grand Salon, tugging harshly until they moved, the grand windows were stunning, but closing the curtains was a pain. Moments like these reminded her to be grateful that she was not the one who had to clean the windows. To stand on a high ladder to even be able to clean them would scare her immensely.

"Please, please, please," Grace barged in the Grand Salon, holding her father's hand and tugging him inside whilst continuing to say 'please' repeatedly in an elated voice. Emma looked at them, tilting her head slightly as she watched the scene unfold.

"I already said yes, Grace, now shut your mouth before I change my mind," Mr Jones chuckled, sitting down behind the piano.

"Thank you!" Grace smiled widely and sat down on the floor next to him, pulling her knees to her chest as she waited impatiently for him to start.

Mr Jones looked up at Emma, as if only now noticing she was in the room as well.

"Sorry," Emma mumbled, making way for the door.

"That was not–I mean, you don't have to leave, Emma," He forced a smile on his lips.

"It is quite all right, Milord, I need to prepare Grace's milk," Emma curtsied and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

A short while later, she returned to a soft melody playing, a calming melody to help Grace fall asleep, no doubt. Emma pushed the door open, neither of them seemed to notice her, Lord Jones' eyes closed as he played, Grace with her back to the door, too captivated by the notes to hear anything but music.

Emma handed Grace the mug, who took it without looking up. Usually Grace had her milk in bed, but as long as he was willing to play for his daughter, she would let Grace sit there.

Truthfully there was nothing in the room to do and while he had given her permission to stay in the room, she felt as if this was more a moment between them. She decided to retreat to the library, where, if she left the door ajar, she would be able to listen to his music too.

Emma reasoned that when Grace was ready to go to bed, she would come fetch her, or Mr Jones would. And so she lit the fire in the library, picked out a book, and curled up in one of the chairs, pulling her legs up, draped a blanket over herself whilst waiting for the fire to heat the room.

The music stopped after a while, she heard soft voices through the door but she couldn't make out the words. The door to the Grand Salon opened and closed. She wanted to get up, she really did, but she had found the perfect position to read in, her chair was warm, and the book was good–if they needed her, they'd fetch her, right?

"Good book?" Mr Jones voice sounded, about ten pages later.

She looked up and nodded. "Shall I put Grace to bed now?"

Mr Jones chuckled, "I just did."

" _You_ put her to bed?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Emma," He mumbled, sitting down on the chair next to her.

"Of course I am surprised, I have been here for nine months now and you have only put her to bed maybe twice before."

He hummed. "All right, I will forgive your bluntness, but only because you are correct."

Emma grinned. "I cannot believe you just admitted to this. I should probably let you write that down and have you sign it, then frame it and hang it in my room. Or better yet, the entrance hall, for everyone to see." His response was a soft, yet amused, scoff and a shy scratch behind his ear, as though he was not used to being teased by her. "I bet she liked having you tuck her in."

"She did, though she did _order_ me to tell you that she loves you."

"Yes, that is part of the ritual that you have completely ruined today," She teased with a chuckle.

"Well, then I apologise for the inconvenience."

"You are forgiven," Emma said, tapping her finger on her lips, pretending to be thinking. "Under one condition…"

"And what would that be?"

"That you do it more often."

"Which part?" Mr Jones asked.

"All of it," Emma answered with a shrug. "Spend time with her, have dinner with her, play piano for her, tuck her in, then come sit down and unwind for a while."

"Perhaps you should join us next time."

"No," Emma said and shook her head. "This seemed more a moment between the two of you."

"Maybe..." He smiled.

"I did love hearing you play again," Emma admitted with softly spoken words.

"Was it not supposed to be a moment between me and my daughter?" Mr Jones teased.

"I cannot help it if I sat in the next room waiting to put Grace to bed and I heard you play," Emma cocked a smile.

"Naturally," He said. "I am glad you are so fond of my music, as apparently, I will be doing it a lot more."

"Apparently?"

"Well, you see, there is this very outspoken young woman who cleverly blackmailed me into doing it again–"

"I did no such thing!" Emma protested, her voice slightly higher while trying to defend herself from his teasing accusations.

"You did!" He grinned. "Had I not agreed, you would still be angry for ruining your evening ritual with my daughter."

Emma sighed shortly, breathing out an exasperated breath. "All right fine, I blackmailed you, but I did it in the interest of Grace."

"Seems like an acceptable enough reason," Mr Jones laughed. It caught her off guard. She'd heard him laugh maybe once or twice before, and it was usually due to Grace. He'd often given her a chuckle, or a short and prompt laugh. But the sound of his laugh, a genuine laugh, was something she had scarcely heard before, and she completely adored it. The way there were little crinkles around his eyes, how beautifully his lips were shaped as he laughed. She looked at him with a wide smile and bright eyes. Emma caught her heart pounding faster, desperate to hear it again.

"What?" He asked quickly, his laugh turning into worry.

"No, I–it's just..." Emma stammered, her smile fading, realising she had no idea how to explain to him that his laugh was absolutely delightful. He would make fun of her, mock her and laugh at her–at least she'd hear it again. She took a deep breath before deciding on: "The sound of your laugh is a rare one, and I liked it." Worry now changed into a toothless smile, but he looked away from her anyhow. "Sorry, I didn't mean..." She trailed off, she didn't mean to what? Make him uncomfortable? Point out that he laughed and make him feel bad about it?

"It is all right. True, I did not laugh much these past few years, but I did not find myself having reasons to. I have one now. Multiple ones at that. Huh, look at me, I'm a lucky man."

"How did you do that last trick?" Emma questioned upon being uncertain what to reply. She had still not figured it out and it would likely keep her busy for the rest of the night. "And the first one, whilst we are at it."

Mr Jones chuckled, gesturing for her to follow to the Grand Salon where he had left the deck of cards before dinner.

He sat down with her on the sofa, and showed her through the pack of cards, pointing out how there were two of the same cards in there as well, but that was for another trick. He let her pick a card and place it back into the deck, shuffling it once and very slowly.

"And the kiss for luck?" Emma asked as he showed her how her card was exactly where he said it would be; behind the Ace of Hearts.

"That was nothing, I simply wanted to kiss you," He stated boldly, holding her gaze the entire time.

"Oh," She whispered, letting him take her hands into his own to explain the second trick. She watched carefully as he showed and explained what he was doing, his hands around hers guiding her throughout every motion, opening them and pressing them closed as he explained how the wrong card had always been between her hands.

When she asked him how he knew the tricks, he told her of when he was younger, how the men in the pub he used to visit would teach him in between card games. He often performed them for Milah, though having spent a lot of time in that pub, she knew more about the tricks than he did. But she indulged him.

He stopped playing once he had no one left to impress, though with his hands shaking the way they did, he would not have been able to perform them anyway.

He taught Emma a few more tricks after that, not that she would have been able to repeat them. His fingers moved far faster than hers could ever manage. Emma imagined she would drop the entire deck to the floor and mess up the trick altogether. But she let him explain, relishing in his closeness and unashamed touches.

* * *

They stood before the carriage just at the crack of dawn, the soft pink gown Emma wore just a bit too cold for the time of day. At least the rain had stopped and today would possibly be a sunny day. Emma wrapped her arms around herself as she watched Mr Jones hug his daughter tightly. It would only be for two weeks, she told herself. But ever since he had taken the habit of actually saying goodbye before he left, she found those days without him lasting long. Too long.

"May I not come, father?" Grace asked, holding tightly to his neck.

"Darling, you know this is not possible."

"I meant to the ship, to wave you goodbye?"

"It is a long journey to the port, Grace," Mr Jones explained patiently.

"I don't mind."

"And what of Emma, have you convinced her to, yet again, spend time with you cooped up in a carriage already?"

Grace released her father and looked up at Emma with her lips shaped into a large pout. "Please, Emma?"

"Very well," Emma answered. It was a truth that Emma did not need much convincing to begin with, she did not mind the journey. Travelling by carriage was a luxury she'd not often experienced before coming to Mr Jones' household. Emma turned her attention to Mr Jones, "I suppose there is no time for me to quickly fetch a book?"

"Not precisely, but I believe I have one in my bag still, I shall give it to you once we are on our way."

"Thank you."

Grace did not manage to stay awake for very long and had quickly convinced her father to change seats so she could sleep.

"Are you worried still, about leaving?" Emma asked quietly, noticing that he had stopped staring at the paperwork on his lap, and started staring out the window instead.

He looked up, clearly having been pulled from distant thoughts. "I am."

"Do you still write the letters?"

"I do," Mr Jones answered, looking at his daughter as she slept soundlessly. "But it is not the same as having her near."

"You'll come home to her before you know it," Emma smiled as she took his hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

They arrived at port a little after noon, it was crawling with people; wives saying goodbye to their husbands, travellers arriving to explore their country, merchants yelling through each other offering the best prices and goods. Mr Jones had taken Grace's hand tightly into his as they walked through the crowds towards one of the large ships, Emma following closely.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Grace pouted, kicking at a small pebble whilst watching her father take some documents from his briefcase.

"I know darling, but it's only two weeks," Mr Jones promised, pressing his lips against his daughter's forehead. "And when I return, I will take you riding again, how does that sound?"

"Promise?"

"I promise," He smiled, giving her another kiss against her forehead before rising to his feet. "Emma," He spoke shortly, nodding his head at her almost stiffly whilst briefly touching her arm–though it felt more like fingers ghosting over the fabric of her dress–before grabbing his suitcase.

"Goodbye," She muttered after him, watching him walk away from them. In the way he moved, Emma could see his shoulders tense, the grip on his suitcase whitening his knuckles. Grace tugged her skirt lightly, soundlessly getting her attention. She nodded at her father with a meaningful smile. "Mr Jones?"

"Yes, love?" He asked absentmindedly as he turned around. He raised his free arm to scratch behind his ear, his face easily conveying the million thoughts that raced through his mind. Emma smiled, steadfastly closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around his neck. He sighed deeply, almost as if he was breathing her in, dropping his suitcase with a soft thud and laid his arms around her waist, pulling her just a little closer to him.

Emma smiled, more to herself than anything, shutting her eyes for a moment and trying to remember exactly how he felt as he hugged her. Actually, really, properly hugged her.

"I am sorry, I did not know…"

He did not finish his sentence, but in a way she understood him nonetheless. How do you say goodbye to someone who means more to you than they know? How do you say goodbye, stay safe, and come home to me when everyone else is watching? How is a proper curtsy enough of a goodbye when a kiss is what you really desire?

She pulled back just slightly, his arms still firmly around her as she brought her hand to cup his cheek.

"Be careful, all right?" She whispered, her thumb stroking over his cheek. "Come back soon–oh, and bring me back a book?"

"You ask quite a lot of me, Emma."

"Very well," Emma sighed, her eyes teasing. "Just the book, then."

He laughed softly. "I will see if I can find anything that will satisfy your literary needs."

"Thank you." Emma returned his smile. It was the blush on his cheek that made her decide to be bold, and press a soft kiss against the rosy apple of his cheek, her lips lingering far longer than appropriate–though their entire embrace was less than appropriate. "Come back to me," Her voice was barely a whisper anymore, an almost soundless plea, she had not even been certain he heard it.

But a brush of his lips against her cheekbone and a whisper for her ears alone, confirmed that he did.

"I've got nowhere else I'd rather be."

* * *

 **AN:**

Thank you so much for your incredible response to the last chapter, I will definitely be looking into how to best go about publishing extra chapters such as deleted scenes, alternate scenes & Killian's letters.

Furthermore, I'm so grateful for the response to this fic in general. Thank you for the 500 kudos on AO3 and the 300 comments on ffnet. Those are insane milestones. Thank you so much! ❤

I know I keep saying it, but I've no other ways to express my gratitude.

I hope this chapter is up to satisfaction, I know that personally this one - and the next *wink* - are two of my favourites.


	16. Sixteen

_Mid-August, 1816._

"Do you think he will be home soon?" Grace asked over dinner, it had been the fifteenth day in a row in which they'd sat alone in the large dining room, the seat in which Mr Jones often took place when he joined them for dinner painfully empty. The soft tapping of the cutlery against the plates, paired with the constant ticking of the clock were the only sounds that filled the grand room.

"Yes, I believe so," Emma answered quietly.

"The two weeks have passed…" Grace whispered. Judging by the amount of food left on her plate, her appetite tonight was far from present.

"I know, darling," Emma replied with soft-spoken words. "But perhaps the ship has been delayed. He will be here soon."

* * *

"It has been three weeks, Emma," Grace said, crawling into bed reluctantly after Emma had brushed her hair. A week ago, the nightmares had started, and not even the warm milk could keep her asleep soundly. "When will father return?"

"I do not know, Gracie." Emma tucked the brush into the nightstand and let a small sigh escape her. Each night again, Grace asked the same question, and each night again, Emma had no answer for her. It gave her a sense of helplessness and easily added to her own troubles of falling asleep at night.

"He _will_ return, won't he?"

"Of course," Emma smiled, brushing her hands over the blankets to smooth out the fabric before pressing a kiss to Grace's forehead. "Why wouldn't he?"

* * *

"Emma," Grace spoke up for the fifth time, though this time her tone betrayed her question would not merely be one to get out of finishing the tasks Mr Jefferson had given her. "If father doesn't return, will you stay with me?"

"Stop it," Emma whispered sharply, closing her book with more force than she intended. Four weeks had passed, and throughout the household, everyone appeared a little more agitated due to the lack of sleep. It made Emma prickly, Ruby became short in her answers, Mary Margaret did not feel much for hopeful speeches. And Grace, though the child scarcely cried before, shed tears over the smallest issue.

Grace flinched in her chair, tears immediately spilling over her rosy cheeks. "Please, Emma, I don't want to be alone."

"I said stop it, Grace!" Emma snapped, rising from her seat by the window. She had not meant to sound so coldly, but she had no intention of bursting into tears herself–certainly not in front of Grace. "He _will_ return. Now, finish your task, I am done sitting here."

"But if he doesn't –"

"He will come home, Grace. He _has_ to."

* * *

Emma laid down onto the soft, comfortable mattress she had loved since the very first day. Yet tonight, the mattress seemed as though it was made of stone and she could not find any satisfactory position, no matter how hard she tried.

She sighed and turned, staring at the candle light flickering, the wax dripping down as time passed.

It had been five weeks since she had watched Mr Jones board the ship, the promise of returning quickly on his lips. Grace inquired about her father's return each night, but each night Emma's answer was the same– _I don't know, Gracie_. During the first few days, Emma had brushed it off as the ship being delayed. But as the days progressed, Emma had not a clue as to why Mr Jones did not return home.

Reaching underneath her pillow, she took the letter in her hands once more.

Her name was written down in a steady and beautiful handwriting. Controlled, cursive, not at all resembling the squiggly lines she had managed to have taught herself over the years.

A few weeks ago she found the letter tucked between the pages of the book he'd given her. The letter was closed with a wax seal, his seal, she knew as she'd seen him use it multiple times. Emma almost smiled at the memory of the days where she'd sat at the desk in his office listening to him speak of his travels whilst writing letters and sealing them, letting the wax fall onto the paper before pressing the stamp into it. _Almost_.

Her fingers ran gently over the closed seal. She stared at it every night, already knowing by heart, the curves of the letters in her name, but she dared not open it.

It was directed to her, but he had not given it to her and to be perfectly honest, she did not think he even intended to. Perhaps he had written the letter during a travel, sealed it, and hid it between the pages of the book he was reading at the time for safe-keeping until he got home.

And so Emma hid the letter, that he likely never intended to give her, underneath her pillow. For safe-keeping. Until he came home.

* * *

 _Two weeks_ , he had promised. _I will be back before you know I'm gone_.

Nearly six weeks had passed without a word and as days turned to weeks, the household turned to a sombre state. No one laughed, smiles became scarce.

Emma sat on the swing, facing the house as she leant her head against the chord. She swayed softly while staring ahead of her.

Having to put Grace to bed was becoming an increasingly difficult task, each night Emma ended up crying after closing the door behind her. Each night she told Grace he'd be home soon, but she'd been saying that for four weeks now. Five weeks ago the letters stopped, the last one said he was about to board the ship and the trip would take a week. He'd be home in a week.

Emma did not want to think something happened, but she read the newspaper more intently every passing morning, just in case. There were many explanations for why he wasn't home yet, some more terrifying than the others.

And the more days passed, the harder it became to believe herself as she tried to convince Grace he would be home soon while wiping the tears from the young girl's cheeks.

Insomnia kept her awake most of the night, and as the days became warmer, Emma found herself sitting outside each night, letting the evening wind dry her own tears, while trying to find less frightening reasons as to why he had not returned yet.

He would explain, when he returned. Not if. _When_.

It was the seventh day she'd sat outside now, staring at the mansion, most of the curtains were drawn. In the majority of the rooms, the candles were either blown out or burnt out. The mansion looked calm, even though the people inside were restless.

Emma took a deep breath and blinked the tears away, drying her cheeks on her sleeves when she saw a figure appear in her line of sight. Ruby likely, coming to tell her she was going to bed, like she did every night before warning her not to stay outside too long as it could still get chilly during the night.

But as she blinked, her vision became less blurry, and it was clear that the person walking over was not Ruby.

 _Killian_.

Emma rose from the swing abruptly and started running, her body moving for her.

She collided with him quite harshly, forcing him to take a step back with a surprised gasp. She wrapped her arms around his neck, closing her eyes as she felt his tensed body relax against hers. He wrapped his arms carefully around her and buried his nose in her hair as he hugged her tighter.

Held tightly in his embrace, it felt as though time had stopped passing. In the warmth of his arms, the cold wind did not bother her as much. After his departure, she'd tried to remember how well she fit in his arms after that first hug, but as time passed she found it harder and harder to recall the feeling.

She felt his fingers thread through her hair, his hand at the nape of her neck. She was not quite sure if she felt his heartbeat, or if she felt her own heart forcefully beating in her chest. For a second she thought she was going to explode if her heart beat any faster. But it was all right, she was safe–more importantly: he was safe–buried in the safety of each other's arms.

"You came home," She sighed after a moment of silence.

"Did you ever doubt I would?" He asked quietly, his lips ghosting over the skin below her ear as he spoke.

"Yes," Emma admitted. "I was so worried."

"You worried for me?" He asked, his voice amused. Emma released her grip on him, her hands slipping down to his chest, his arms still around her as if he was reluctant to let her go. Though his eyes were filled with curiosity and a grin played on his lips.

"Well, yes. For Grace, of course," Emma explained quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear shyly. The smile he gave her made her stare at him, her own smile creeping up on her lips. They stood like this for a brief moment, staring and smiling–and falling in love. "Oh! Grace!" She exclaimed suddenly, breaking the moment of silence between them. "She shall be so happy, have you gone to see her yet?"

"My daughter should be in bed, asleep," He arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, she is in bed, but I doubt she is asleep, she has been so worried for you." Emma took a step away from him and he let her go, if not a little reluctantly. "Please, go see her, Milord."

"As you wish," He nodded, taking a small bow and turned around to go back inside.

Emma followed, making sure to leave a generous space between them as she tried to keep her cheeks from colouring a blushing shade of red at the memory of how they had just stood in the garden for a long while, for everyone to see.

"Will you be going to bed?" Mr Jones asked quietly as she walked past him once he'd stopped at the staircase.

She looked at him over her shoulder, his heated gaze never broke away from her; it left her to fight the undeniable pull that made her want to step closer and fall into his arms again. "I thought I could make us a cup of tea first?"

"A cup of tea does sound nice," He agreed, the smile on his lips lop-sided and almost innocent, but his eyes were far from it.

Emma nodded, looking at the kitchen door at the end of the hallway, longing for a moment of solitude to gather her thoughts–and make an attempt to remove the blush that kept trying to colour her cheeks. "Shall I meet you in the Grand Salon?"

"Yes, please."

Emma nodded again and made for the kitchen with fast paces. She opened the heavy kitchen door and pushed it closed behind her, leaning her forehead against the cool wood. With her thoughts occupied with the hug they had just shared, and his eyes looking at her the way they had, Emma had no choice but to allow the blush to spread across her cheeks. A soft laugh escaped her as she closed her eyes, holding her shaking hands against her chest.

"Help me out here, Mary Margaret," Ruby's voice made Emma flinch and turn around quickly. Both women seated at the kitchen table stared at her with wide grins spread across their faces. "What's that look called?"

"Smitten, I believe," Mary Margaret teased.

"My my, do you think it has anything to do with that hug earlier?"

"What hug, Ruby?" Mary Margaret asked theatrically, leaning her chin on the palm of her hand, clearly relishing in the fact that for once it was not her being teased about having fallen in love.

"Oh you know, the one shared between her and Killian," Ruby answered. "It seemed to last for hours, it was so intimate and–"

"All right, stop it!" Emma interrupted her, finally having found her voice. She had not been under any delusions that they had not seen what happened, especially Ruby, who always seemed to know everything that happened in this mansion. She knew their hug had not been private, but in that moment, seeing him returned home, she would have thrown herself into his arms in front of all of London. No matter the consequences.

"What is this?" Ruby asked, tilting her head. "No 'I don't know what you are talking about'?"

"There is no point in denying it, is there?" Emma sighed, putting a kettle over the fire. "You've seen it, so..."

"It was not exactly secretive, sweetheart," Mary Margaret offered.

"It was not meant to be a secret, I am simply happy to have him back." Emma shrugged before reaching for two cups in the cupboard. "For Grace," She added quickly.

"Of course, and I am certain that the amorous hug was also for Grace's benefit," Ruby grinned.

"Ah, stop teasing her," Mary Margaret smiled, Emma was about to thank her when she continued, "She is clearly making two cups of tea, so she is seeing him again, and we don't want her looking red as a tomato."

Emma pursed her lips and shook her head. "Honestly, you two are the worst!"

"But you love us nonetheless," Ruby winked. "You are seeing him again, though?"

"Yes, for tea," Emma answered shortly, pleading that this would be the last of that conversation. Her mind already filled with a hundred situations that could never happen, her heart pounding fiercely at each one of them.

Thankfully, the two other women understood and changed the subject matter before Emma left the kitchen and made her way to the Grand Salon.

"Just one short story, all right?" Emma heard Mr Jones say as she reached the top of the staircase.

"Yes, father," Grace answered obediently, looking up with wide, yet tired eyes as Emma entered the Grand Salon. "Emma, father said you could read me one story before I must go to bed again," She said, almost pushing the book into Emma's hands. Emma set down the two cups of tea on the side table and glanced at Mr Jones who gave her an apologetic shrug.

"I will fetch her some milk. Ruby is still in the kitchen I assume?"

"Yes," Emma said, sitting down onto the sofa with Grace closely next to her. Grace looked proud of her accomplishment, but Emma knew she would scarcely last one chapter before she would fall asleep. Even if the book Emma had been handed was a rather thin book.

"Are you angry with me, Emma?" Grace whispered.

"No, darling," Emma chuckled. It had been only a few hours since she had brushed Grace's hair before bed, yet as Emma ran her fingers through Grace's curls, they were tangled once more. If Grace had slept at all, it had been a restless sleep. "Of course not."

Emma had been a few pages into the book Grace had given her, when Mr Jones sat down next to his daughter after handing her the cup of milk, and Emma stopped reading, looking up at him.

"No please, continue," He urged. Grace snuggled up against her father as Emma continued to read.

She was nearing the end of the story when she noticed Grace had fallen asleep, Mr Jones having taken her mug and set it on the floor next to them before it spilt all over the couch. "Go on," He whispered, careful not to wake Grace. Emma smiled and brought her attention back to the book, finishing the story for him. "I will bring her to bed." Emma nodded gratefully, closing Grace's book as she watched Mr Jones take his daughter into his arms and carry her out of the Grand Salon.

She'd taken the book she started yesterday from the library and sat back in her previous spot, legs curled underneath her, with a blanket over her, on the sofa closest to the fire, when Lord Jones finally returned, holding two cups of tea.

"I believe the cups you brought us earlier have gone cold already, so I brought two new ones. Ruby told me you take honey in your tea instead of sugar and no milk," He smiled and sat down while handing her a cup.

"I do," Emma answered softly.

"I've tried it for myself," He nodded at his own cup. "Let's see if your barbaric way of taking your tea tastes decent."

"My barbaric way of having my tea?!" Emma's voice pitched at his accusations. "You be careful, for I am usually the one who makes your tea."

"And you do it amazingly," He smirked.

"You only say that because you are afraid I will slip honey in your tea instead of sugar," Emma chuckled.

"Well, if this tastes decent enough, I am taking it back and I won't care how you sugar my tea."

"I make great tea," She protested. Mr Jones gave her a wink and a grin before taking a sip of his tea. He tried to mask that he liked it by making a foul face, but she had been carefully watching–or staring, rather–ever since he winked at her, and could tell that he liked it.

"Disgusting," He stated unconvincingly.

"You are a terrible liar," Emma laughed.

"I am an excellent liar!" Lord Jones exclaimed. "And I just realised that that is not something to be proud of." He chuckled and shook his head as he scratched behind his ear. "Perhaps I am a bad liar because it is you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have always been great at reading me," He explained. "But it works the other way around as well."

"I believe that might be true," Emma smiled, drinking her tea.

"How did you know Grace was still awake?" Mr Jones asked.

"I had my suspicions. I know that she had been sleeping badly during these last few weeks. She worried for you," Emma answered. "Some days she really couldn't sleep, so I read to her until we both fell asleep. Others she was so tired she would fall asleep before supper. It is good that you are home, Sir."

"I wish you would stop calling me that," He mumbled into his cup.

"And what would you like me to call you then? Milord? Mister?" Emma teased.

He laughed dryly, almost a silent scoff. "You know you are allowed to call me Killian." Emma cleared her throat quietly, stirring her tea so she would not have to look at him. She knew she was allowed to, and in his absence, she had done so many times. But to use his name in front of him was another matter entirely. "It's all right," He murmured. "Maybe another day."

Emma nodded. "So, would you care to tell me why you scared us all so much?"

"It wasn't my fault, love. And I made sure to tell Grace that too." Mr Jones sat back on the sofa as he explained. "I believe it must have been our captain's first travel, for the man made a _slight_ miscalculation that sent us completely off course. He docked us somewhere that was nowhere near our destination, where he had a different captain aid him to send on the correct course. I promise you, I came home as soon as I could."

"All right," Emma mumbled, reaching for her book on the side table. "And you could not send a letter?"

"Don't be angry, darling," He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, but she refused to look at him. Instead, as his fingers ghosted along her jaw and sent a chill through her spine, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the cover of her book. "We were told not to leave the ship for our departure would be immediate. It was never my intention to hurt any of you. Certainly not Grace… Or you." His tone was a genuine one, his voice low and warm as he spoke his plea for forgiveness.

"Very well," Emma said stubbornly as she opened her book.

"Read to me?" Mr Jones questioned, his voice still low and rather sinful sounding. Emma knew that with him as close to her as he was now, she would not be able to focus on the words, certainly not if he asked her to read them aloud.

"How about you read to me for a change?" She smiled, handing him the book.

"I've read this one already," He pouted.

"Good, then you know which intonations to use, I left off here." She leaned over slightly to point at the line. He started reading without further objections. Emma watched him as he read, unsure if she was actually listening to the story or the sound of his voice. Before he left, Emma had known his absence would be difficult, when his absence turned into the longest she had ever been apart from him, she found herself longing to see him again. Each day more. The more she thought of him, the harder it became for her to deny the feelings that had crept up on her and nestled themselves with no intention of fading.

Often she thought her feelings were unjustified, but then he came home, and since then he'd scarcely taken his eyes off her, finding new ways to touch her, finding new reasons to sit close. Emma knew he would still be home in the morning, but selfishly, she reasoned that in the morning she would have to share him with Grace again. Now, she had him all to herself and she could feel herself falling in love with him even further as he read to her, even though they were both so clearly exhausted, but neither one refused to be the one to bid the other goodnight first.

Emma gave him a tired smile as he quit reading and looked at her. "You are not really following the story, are you?"

"No," She confessed, hiding a small yawn behind her hand. "How did you know?"

"Truthfully, because I messed up seven times already–around the third time I started doing it on purpose."

"That is what gave it away?" Emma laughed softly. "Perhaps I was simply being supportive."

"Be honest, Emma, you would have laughed if you heard me mess up this many times."

"Yes," She admitted. "I believe you are correct in that."

"What's on your mind, love?"

She stared at him, her lips parted slowly as her eyes flickered at his lips and back. She could kiss him–he sat close enough to touch–but fear held her back. Fear that maybe there was a chance she had misread him completely, fear that he would not kiss her back, or did not want to kiss her to begin with. So she wet her lips before sucking in her lower lip and shook her head.

"Nothing important," Emma whispered. "Read some more?" He nodded (if not slightly reluctantly) and started reading again, until the clock hit twelve and they both looked up. The fire was slowly burning out and about thirty minutes prior Emma decided she would much rather share the blanket with him than have him get up to add more wood to the fire, or possibly deciding that it had become late enough to go to bed.

Smouldering embers were the only forms of fire still burning, but underneath the blanket it was nicely warm. Somewhere along the way, Emma had laid her head against his shoulder, fighting to keep her eyes open, the stress from the last couple days still taking its toll. But he simply shifted so that she would be even more comfortable, and she was indeed falling asleep until the clock abruptly awoke her.

When he looked at her, he noticed the tiredness in her eyes and suggested to go to bed.

"All right," Emma agreed, hiding a yawn against his shoulder. She could hear him laugh softly and felt his hand brush her hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm against her cold skin. "I wish I could fall asleep here, I am so very comfortable and warm," She mumbled, trying to keep another yawn from coming, but the attempt was useless.

She looked up as he remained silent, meeting his eyes far closer than she expected. Her breath caught in her throat.

"I've missed you," He admitted quietly, twirling a lock of hair around his finger.

"Perhaps we might take a walk tomorrow," Emma offered. "When Grace is being tutored."

"I'd like that," He answered. In the silence that followed Emma's heart pounded heavier and heavier in her chest. She kept her hands firmly against her chest in a poor attempt to keep them from shaking too hard. Her lips trembled as they parted to let a soft sigh escape.

She knew one of two things could happen now, and she dreaded the idea that he might be the one to pull away this time.

But he never did, instead he shifted once more, letting himself lean forward even closer.

"You are so beautiful," He whispered, brushing his thumb over her chin, her hair still woven through his fingers. He hesitated, why did he hesitate? Was he waiting for permission? Was he changing his mind? Beautiful. He'd called her beautiful. No one had ever called her beautiful before.

A million thoughts raced through her mind, but only one came out.

"Won't you kiss me, Killian?" Emma asked softly, her voice shaky. He smiled at the use of his given name and leant forward just a bit more, brushing his lips against hers gently, before capturing her lips in a kiss.

His kiss started slow and tender, his fingers woven into her hair, his hands guiding her closer to him. The dreams she'd had of him kissing her paled in comparison to the soft press of his lips. He was kind and gentle in his kiss, and gave her room to learn, to understand what he wanted from her. There was a faint taste of honey on his lips and his tongue, and it added to the sweetness with which he held and kissed her.

"Emma I'm going –" Ruby walked in the Grand Salon without warning. Both Emma and Killian pulled apart quickly, not looking at Ruby–but not looking at each other either. "I am sorry, I am so sorry, I did not–um... I will..." She sighed quietly at her loss of words. Ruby. At a loss of words. If she had not just come in the room and ruined this moment, Emma would have absolutely adored this. The brunette stepped out of the room without another word, leaving them to sit in silence.

Still, Emma could not manage to look at him, but somehow she knew he was not looking at her either. Had he realised the mistake he'd made when he kissed her, his servant? Had he thought she kissed utterly poorly? With her heart still beating rapidly in her chest, the tension squeezing her throat shut, Emma found it difficult to manage anything more than a choked whisper.

"Goodnight, Milord," Emma whispered, her hands shaking too much to bring the empty cups of tea along with her as she headed out of the room, down the stairs.

Ruby still stood in the foyer, looking a little lost.

She looked up at Emma with an apologetic smile. "I am so sorry, Emma, I thought he had gone to bed already –"

"It is all right, Ruby," Emma assured her, keeping her shaking hands balled up into fists by her side as they walked to the kitchen. "Is there something you wanted to say?"

"Just that I was going to bed–and remind you that you needed to go to the market with Ella tomorrow."

"Yes, I know," Emma smiled. "Goodnight?"

"Goodnight," Ruby smiled, still looking a little affected by the scene she had walked in on. If she had an opinion at all she was not ready to share it yet, but Emma did not exactly want to hear it either. When Ruby left through the door in the back and left her alone with her thoughts in the kitchen, Emma sighed. Her chest felt heavy still, but it finally allowed her to breathe again. He had _kissed_ her. Because she had _asked_ him to. Emma buried her face in her hands as she laughed, misery or otherwise, she'd no idea.

Turning around, letting her hands fall to her side, revealed one of the double doors opening and Mr Jones stepping in.

"Don't send me to bed like that, you cannot call me Killian and then shut me out again," He pleaded, stepping closer to claim her mouth with his. He was a lot less gentle this time, but he still gave her the chance to walk away from him. She didn't. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he ran his tongue over her bottom lip, he was demanding, but she was more than willing to give. His fingers pressed into her back as he kissed her hungrily. A low moan escaping him as they broke apart to breathe.

Upon meeting Killian's eyes, she found them filled with desire, and the question of whether it would be all right to kiss her again.

"Just one more –" Ruby's voice sounded from the back of the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, Ruby!" Killian cursed at her. Emma laughed softly, leaning her head against his shoulder, one hand sliding down to his chest. She wasn't necessarily feeling his heartbeat, just subtly trying to calm him, but feeling that his heart was beating just as fast as hers made her feel perhaps a little giddy.

His curse must have scared Ruby off, for when Emma looked over his shoulder, Ruby had already left the kitchen again.

"Perhaps it is a sign," He chuckled, resting his cheek against her temple, wrapping her into his arms.

"Maybe it is," Emma answered.

"Don't," He warned, looking at her. "Did this not feel the rightest you've felt in a while? I've never been so certain of anything feeling more right than I do this. Of course, unless Ruby walks in again."

"I highly doubt she would enter a third time," Emma grinned, tracing her fingers over the stitching of his vest.

"She had better not." He followed her jest easily, but turned serious just as quickly again. "Emma, do you wish to think about this?"

"No," Emma said steadfastly. "I do not have to."

"I would never force something upon you that you do not want, or that scares you."

"I know that."

"Good, because if this is not –" She cut him off, standing tiptoe and pressing his lips against his. He answered immediately, a quick, hot and heavy kiss that left them both breathless. His hands having touched her in almost every improper spot, leaving her corset feeling just a bit too tight.

"Are you well?" He whispered as Emma pulled away slightly.

"Quite," Emma answered quietly, leaning her spinning head against his shoulder and fighting the urge to bury it in his neck.

"Quite?"

"I am so very tired," She admitted. "And Grace has early lessons."

"Perhaps I ought to let you go to get some sleep," He spoke, running his fingers through her hair. "Will be still be going for a walk tomorrow?"

"I should like that very much."

"Perhaps we might take the horse."

"You said you would never force me to anything that scares me," Emma protested.

"You have to learn, Emma, I still have every intention to buy you your own horse, it would be a shame if you did not know how to ride it."

"But –"

"You can hold on to me any time you get scared, darling," He grinned. Emma smacked his shoulder and gave him a glare. "Go to bed, I will see you in the morning."

"Yes, Milord," Emma teased, a grin shaping on her lips. He looked almost hurt as his eyebrows knit together. She kissed him softly, though her kiss was only halfway met. "Goodnight, Killian," She whispered against his lips.

He smiled then, returning her kiss properly this time.

"Goodnight, Emma."

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Well... That happened... Hope it was worth the wait. I mean, I'm not done yet, of course. Still. Hope it was worth it :P.**

 **In all honesty, I've not much to say, but my brain has been going "REVENGE, REVENGE, REVENGE, AND IT'S GONNA BE MINE" for the past two hours, so...**

 **Anyway, thank you all so much for your kind comments here, on twitter, tumblr, ... (also 600 kudos? wow how) I am so incredibly grateful, always. Thank you, thank you, thank you!**


	17. Seventeen

_Mid-August, 1816._

"Emma?" Mary Margaret stopped her from entering the kitchen after having returned from the market with Ella. Emma hadn't had a chance to talk with Ruby–neither before nor after breakfast–and something inside her desperately longed to explain herself. Ruby, however, had not made a single joke, or given her teasing winks. It made Emma wonder about all the other secrets Ruby knew and never shared.

"Yes?" Emma answered.

"I have something to ask you," Mary Margaret said, grabbing her hands and practically dragging Emma with her. "Not here, though." Emma followed her to the garden where David stood by Lady Milah's grave. He wasn't necessarily tending to it, merely marvelling at it, as Emma had done many times before.

"David?" Mary Margaret asked, he looked up at them, greeting both women with a smile.

"I was wondering if perhaps Mr Jones had ever brought flowers to Lady Milah's grave. The growth around the headstone would suggest he did."

"He did," Mary Margaret answered. "When she had just passed he often sat by her grave for hours. Often not even coming inside to eat. Then one day he packed his suitcase and left, did not come home for a little more than four months. When he came home he didn't even look at the grave, and told all of us to stay away from it."

David hummed, satisfied with the answer given. Emma found it surprisingly easy to imagine Mr Jones– _Killian_ , she corrected herself, she called him _Killian_ now–sitting by the stone she had first met him. When she first saw him he must have been every bit as heartbroken as he was during those first days.

Now, he still carried the pain of the heartache with him, but over time it had become a little easier to bare.

"Have you asked her yet?" David asked, his voice breaking Emma from her thoughts.

"No," Mary Margaret answered as she stepped closer and looped her arm around his. "That's why I brought her here." Emma looked at them with a raised eyebrow, tilting her head slightly as her brain considered all the possibilities. "Emma, we've something important to ask."

"I gathered as much."

Mary Margaret took a deep, nervous breath. "I eh–"

"I've asked her to marry me," David said quickly before Mary Margaret could even muster up the courage. But as soon as he spoke the words, they both smiled brightly at her, the ease having fallen off their shoulders.

"Congratulations!" Emma laughed, clapping her hands in excitement. It was happy news indeed, and she was genuinely happy for them. But somewhere, buried deep down, Emma still felt a pang of jealousy.

"Well, the thing we have to ask…" David started, sharing a glance with Mary Margaret. "We were hoping you could ask Lord Jones for permission."

"I'm sorry? I'm afraid I don't follow." Emma frowned, excitement making place for confusion.

"It is rare for a woman to keep her place in a household upon marrying. And if she were to marry a man inside the household, they would both be sent away. We hoped you might convince Mr Jones otherwise."

"Oh," Emma said as Mary Margaret explained. "Why can you not ask him yourself?"

"I believe he might be more willing to consider our request if you were to be the one who asked him," Mary Margaret said sheepishly.

"Me? Why me?"

"I think we all know why you," David grinned. "Sometimes I see him looking at you the way I often look at Mary Margaret. Hoping I could one day give her everything her heart desires." Mary Margaret sighed dreamily at that, letting herself lean into David's side.

"He does not– we don't–" Emma ended her stammer with a scoff as they both looked at her with an amused grin. "Very well, I will ask him. But never suggest such a thing again." Mary Margaret opened her mouth with a teasing glint in her eye, but Emma raised her finger, stopping her before she could speak up.

"One more word, and I will _not_ be asking him:"

Mary Margaret bit her lip to hide her smile but rose her hands in defence.

"Thank you, Emma," David spoke for them. Emma nodded before bidding them both goodbye and returning to the mansion.

Of course, she knew by now, that Killian _did_ look at her differently than a Lord should be looking at his servant. But it turned out, this had been obvious to others as well–obvious enough to come to her with requests as important as these.

Requests that almost made her heart ache, longing for the day a man would love her enough to ask her the most important question of all. And she would be utterly lying to herself if she said she had not imagined Killian being the one to ask her.

Though of course, those had been fantasies. Fantasies where she could escape her life of poorness, a life with a man who expected nothing of her but to give him an heir to his estate.

Now, she did not even have to imagine the way his lips felt against hers. She _knew_. She knew the way his teeth tugged at her lip, leaving it slightly bruised. She knew the way his hands roamed her body, his palm curved around her waist or his fingertips tracing the swell of her breasts. She knew the way his thumb rested on her chin as he leant his forehead against hers, breathless from kissing her.

She had been so caught up in her thoughts and memories, that she had only noticed the person stepping before her when it was too late, and she crashed into him.

"So deeply lost in your thoughts," Killian spoke lowly and placed his hands on her waist, their warmth tangible through her corset, and slowly guided her backwards until they stood engulfed in the darkness of the hallway that led to his office, where no one could see them. "And by the blush spread across your cheeks, I'd say they weren't the most proper ones."

"I was thinking of last night," Emma answered almost innocently. _Almost_. But she imagined her obvious desire to be touched by him might not have been so easily masked. "So my thoughts were less than proper, indeed."

"Last night, what happened last night?" He asked, arching a teasing eyebrow, and swayed closer until she stood with her back against the wall of the dark hallway.

"Do you need a reminder, Mr Jones?"

"I believe that might be preferable, Miss Swan," He said with a challenging grin playing on his lips. "As many reminders as you are willing to give."

Emma smiled up at him and placed her hand on his cheek, drawing him nearer. But before her lips met his, the unmistakeable sound of the kitchen doors opening and closing came. Yet, instead of stepping away from her, Killian kept his arms around her.

"Killian?" Ruby called out, appearing from the kitchen. A small series of cuss words followed. "Sodding– You were just here– Oh, there you are–and it would appear I once more interrupted you," She spoke with a sigh, hugging the basket she was carrying a little closer to her chest.

"It would appear so," Killian said–the smile on his lips a mixture between annoyance and amusement–and finally took a step away from Emma. "Out of all your talents, this one seems to be the most rubbish of them all."

Ruby only hummed as she handed the basket to Killian, it was very clear to Emma that she wanted to reply, but chose against doing so.

"Are you ready for our walk, love?" He asked, making her tear her gaze from Ruby.

"Yes," Emma replied with a nod and followed him outside. Once outside Thomas stood by Grace's horse, petting it after having fed it a carrot. "Why are we riding Grace's horse?"

" _We_ are not riding Grace's horse, _you_ are."

"No," Emma said firmly, promptly stopping before Thomas could overhear their conversation. "Absolutely not a chance. You said we'd both be on the horse–that I could hold on to you."

"But that was before I decided we would be bringing a picnic," Killian said, laying his hand on her back and guiding her forward. "I cannot be riding the horse with you _and_ the basket. I promise you we will not be going any faster than a mere stroll. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you, but the horse–"

"Love, if this horse had shown any indication that it was untrustworthy, do you truly believe I would let Grace ride it?"

The ride was, as he had promised, a calm stroll through the forest, much like their previous walks had been–though she hadn't been on a horse those times. Their ride was mostly in silence as they rarely spoke, though there were times he would look up at her and give her a smile that made her heart flutter.

Their calm stroll ended in a large open field, that did not look as though it belonged to anyone, the overgrown grass and other plants reached Killian's shin. He did not say a word as he guided the horse along to the single tree in the middle of the field.

He tied the horse's reins to a sturdy branch of the large tree and set the basket down before he moved to lift Emma off the horse. As she stepped away from him, his arm reached for her, pulling her closer with an abrupt tug. She almost giggled as she collided with him, her hands on his chest.

"Now that we are alone…." He spoke lowly, bringing his hand underneath her chin to make her face him. "Without Ruby to interrupt us."

"She has wonderful timing, does she not?" Emma nodded, nervously keeping up conversation. This was silly. She had kissed him before, multiple times at that, and still, the anticipation of his kiss nearly drove her mad.

"The greatest," He answered huskily, though by the sound of his low voice, Emma could tell his thoughts were not occupied with keeping up conversation anymore–Emma doubted they had ever been. His eyes constantly drifting to her lips, his fingers pushing into her back as he tugged her just that bit closer.

"Are you waiting for permiss–" He cut her off abruptly, his lips were on hers before she could even finish the sentence. She laughed as she met his kiss, laying her arms around his neck.

As his kiss grew more intense, Emma took a small step back to steady herself and in doing so nearly fell over the basket he had set down there earlier.

Killian laughed softly, his strong arms steadying her. "Perhaps we should sit down."

Emma nodded and he released her. He laid out the blanket directly next to the tree, placing the basket in the middle of it. Emma took his offered his hands and sat down with her back against the tree, and, instead of sitting down across from her, like a proper gentleman should, he sat down directly beside her.

She absolutely relished in the way his body brushed against hers as he leant forward to the basket and started to unload it.

"Is that a bottle of wine?" Emma asked with a frown.

"Yes, but I believe –" He paused upon opening the bottle and bringing it to his nose. A small smirk appeared on his lips. "– Ruby has done this before. It's grape juice."

"Oh," Emma said, holding out the two wineglasses for him to pour out some of the _wine_. "Did you ask Ruby to prepare this basket for us?" Emma asked as she handed him one of the glasses.

"I did," He answered, his fingers brushing over hers as he took the glass from her hands. He looked deeply into her eyes as he ticked his glass against hers and took a sip of the grape juice.

"Has she said anything?" Emma asked once she finally managed to tear away from his piercing gaze. He arched a questioning eyebrow. "About last night," Emma explained. "Or the matter that you asked to prepare a basket for yourself and me?"

"Ruby knows when she is allowed to tease me, and when she is not. Though that does not mean she is not visibly stoked about being correct."

"In what matter was she correct?"

"That I have been pretending for too long now." She looked up at him, not quite daring to ask the question. But he simply smiled at her. "Emma, I am done pretending that I don't want to kiss you every moment of the day."

Emma smiled in return, pushing herself up a little and bringing her lips to his for a gentle kiss. He moaned softly as though she had taken him off guard. He followed her tender kiss, but the way he let her push herself closer up against him, and the way his fingers dug into her corset to tug her even closer, he appeared to want more.

She felt his hands trace over her arms, finding her own hands and taking the glass from her to set it aside in the grass, where it quickly topped over as soon as he pushed her down, laying her flat on her back on the blanket.

If someone were to see them now, in their most scandalous position yet… An unmarried woman with a man to whom she was not betrothed or even worse: a servant and her employer.

"Whatever you are thinking of, stop it," He murmured against her lips and pulled back a little to look at her.

"I apologise," She whispered and brought her fingers to his chin, almost absentmindedly tracing them across his jaw line. "What if someone sees?"

"No one comes here," He promised and pressed a kiss against the tip of her nose.

"But if they did?"

"Then you would have to pretend to be my wife." Killian shrugged, the suggestion appearing meaningless to him. Emma swallowed thickly but nodded. He sighed softly and rolled them around so that he was on his back now, tugging her a little closer to his side. "I promise you, Emma, no one will see. Your honour will remain yours."

"It is not _my_ honour that I am worried about," Emma spoke with a quiet laugh, laying her hand on his chest and immediately feeling his steady heartbeat underneath her palm.

His chest hummed as he chuckled. "I don't necessarily have a care for mine either, in case you haven't noticed."

Emma grinned, her fingers toying with the cravat around his neck that had come undone during their kiss. "Killian, might I ask you for a favour?"

"Of course," He said quietly as he played with a lock of her hair between his fingers. "Anything you need."

"I must confess, I do not know how or where to start..."

"Take your time, Emma," He smiled, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. "It is quite all right."

"Very well. Uh... If a woman in service of a household was to marry –" He jerked his head up at her, his features overcome with confusion, his arm tensing around her. Emma chose to ignore it, wishing to finish her sentence before he would get _too_ worried. "– or say, _two_ servants in the same household would marry, often they would be permanently dismissed. I was wondering, if perhaps you might make an exception."

He remained silent for a moment, she could see his eyes darting across her features, studying them. "Have you been offered a proposal?" Emma laughed softly and shook her head. He hummed softly in response, but she had noticed the relief wash over him as soon as she'd shaken her head. "So who are you talking about, then?"

"I cannot say, for if you were to disagree you might dismiss them anyway."

He nodded once, pursing his lips as he considered her request. "It is not common for the woman to remain in service, let alone both of them."

"I understand, Killian. I simply thought, since this was not the first time you have proven yourself to be the exception to the unspoken rules, I might try and ask."

"May I think about it?"

"Of course," Emma smiled, happy that he would at least consider it.

He pursed his lips for a moment. "I have something to ask you as well. Grace has asked if she can have a cat or a dog, how do you feel about that?"

"Why are you asking me?" Emma chuckled.

"Well, if the pet is Grace's," He started to explain, "Grace will spend a lot of time with it, and you spend a lot of time with Grace, so I should like to know your opinion on the matter."

"I would not mind it," She said. Emma had never had a pet before, or even been part of a household that had one. Which was a shame, for she did love dogs so much.

"Ah, and here I had hoped for a different answer."

Emma laughed, sitting up straight to reach for her fallen down glass and poured out a bit more in hopes of drinking it before it got spilt again. "Why is that?" She asked, looking over her shoulder where Killian still laid on his back, staring at the leaves of the tree above him.

"At this point, I believe my daughter likes you more than she likes me. If I were to say no _because Emma said so_ she might not be as angry." His lips shaped into a grin, which it often did when he attempted to mask his pain. But Emma knew him well enough by now to know when he was hiding something. Or she liked to think she did, at least.

"Firstly, your daughter loves you, she is incredibly proud of you. Secondly, I would not allow you to let me use you like that. Thirdly, what is wrong with giving her a cat or a dog?"

"It is a big responsibility for a seven-year-old. I am not sure she is ready."

"It is a pet, Killian, not a child," Emma rolled her eyes, and turned herself around a bit so that she sat facing him again. If he was disappointed at all that she did not retake her spot in his arms, he did not show it. Though he did move just the slightest bit, possibly to give her more space on the blanket, which resulted in him being nearly off the blanket.

"Luckily!" He exclaimed. "Had she been with child I would have seriously sat her down right now rather than lying here in the grass with you."

Emma laughed softly and shook her head. "Goodness, you are so melodramatic. There is no way a seven-year-old could be pregnant."

"I believe I saw a freak show in Europe once where there was."

"She simply must have been a very small woman. It is impossible." Killian chuckled, plucking a blade of grass from near his head, ripping it in half slowly. "What did that piece of grass do to you?"

"It tickled my cheek," He explained nonchalantly, tossing the ripped up grass away.

"Do you violently murder everything that tickles you?"

"No, but tickling back a blade of grass is rather pointless."

"Ah," Emma spoke, hiding her grin behind her glass. "So if I were to tickle you, you would tickle me back, then?"

"Oh, but I would not try it, darling. Ask Grace, she will assure you that I have no mercy at all when it comes to tickling." Emma huffed softly, unable to hide her amusement further. "I promise you, begging me to stop will not help you I'm afraid."

"Is that so?" Emma hovered her hand over his stomach–he did not look at her, nor her hand, but he was smiling, ready to catch her as soon as she tickled him. But she didn't, she pulled back and sat on her knees instead. "Will you be getting her a dog or a cat?"

"I told her I would consider it–after asking you, of course–not that I would do it."

"The initial question remains."

"How are you so certain I will be getting her anything?"

Because you love her. Because you are very soft–hearted and would do anything for your daughter. Because you still believe you have to make up for all those years you think you were a bad father to her. Because every time we pass a dog on the street you look at it with a little twinkle in your eye.

"I just do." Emma shrugged, bringing her glass to her lips for the last bit of her grape juice and setting it aside.

"A dog, probably," He then answered. "At least that adds some value to the household. Perhaps I can train it to guard the estate. Cats just lay around doing nothing all day."

"Cats are very cuddlesome," Emma protested.

"If you need a hug, darling, you need only ask. I do not need some arsehole running around the house in the hopes that one day he will bless me with a cuddle of some sort. Besides, dogs love hugs too!"

"You really do not like cats, do you?"

He scoffed. "I enjoy a challenge, but figuring out the mindset of a cat is beyond my capabilities."

"Does that frustrate you?" Emma teased.

"Immensely," He sighed exasperatedly, laying his arm over his eyes to shield it from the sun. Emma could not help the smile that crept up her lips, he left his side vulnerable to her touch. "Don't you dare," He warned lowly, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"How did you know?"

"My love, I have a seven-year-old," He chuckled as if that explained it all.

"I bet I am faster than a seven-year-old though," Emma said, trying to ignore how quick her heart was to leap at the words _my love_ , and reached out to tickle his side. At the slightest hint of movement on his part, she rose to her feet and ran. Not in any particular direction, but it was an open field, allowing plenty of space to run.

Unfortunately, it did not take him long to catch her, sweeping her off her feet.

"Faster than a seven-year-old, perhaps, but not faster than me," Killian grinned, walking back to their little picnic site.

"This is not much of a punishment, in fact, I quite enjoy this form of transportation," Emma smiled.

"Is that so?" Killian arched an eyebrow, laying her down on the blanket, keeping her hands firmly pinned above her head with one hand. His other stroked lightly over her neck, just the barest touch; it easily sent shivers up her spine.

She stared at him with anticipation, but while she expected him to look ready for merciless teasing, he looked hungry instead. And not the sort of hunger that could be fixed with the bread and cheese that Ruby packed.

"Last chance, Emma. Perhaps if you apologise I might show mercy."

"What exactly was my punishment again?" She asked, her chest rising and falling quickly.

"Make no mistake, darling, I will leave you breathless either way."

"I get a choice, then?"

He smiled a little, his thumb grazing over the dimple in her chin. "Maybe I could bend the rules a little for you."

"I think I might have a preference."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. But I do have one request."

He hummed shortly. "You are truly forcing me to bend the rules then, aren't you?"

"Perhaps a little, but I am scared–"

She regretted her choice of words immediately, for as soon as she spoke them, he released her and sat back up. Emma followed his example, catching his arm before he could sit further away from her.

"I am not scared of you," She laughed softly. "Or what you will do to me. I am scared I will not be able to keep up. You are... More experienced than I am." Emma offered him a shy smile, brushing her fingers over his forearm. With each time he had kissed her, she had been scared of being unable to keep up with him. Though with each kiss they'd shared, they were interrupted by either someone else, or her own thoughts. And something in his eyes told her there would not be any interruptions this time. He would have her, in every way she would allow him to. Even after having explained herself, worry still creased his brow. "I mean, I understand I must be punished, I have commuted the serious felony of tickling you."

Finally he laughed, just lightly, his arm moving away from her touch to cup her cheek. "Then I shall bend the rules once more; if at any point you need me to stop, tell me, and I will."

Emma nodded slowly, lips slightly parted as he moved closer. The teasing brush of his lips against hers nearly drove her to madness. But he played the game of teasing as though he had invented it.

She quickly decided that she was done waiting for him and leant forward to press her lips against his. She could feel his smile against her lips, and a low breath that resembled a relieved, happy sigh.

Her heart raced in her chest, pounding frantically.

Her hands slid over his chest, grabbing the cloth of his vest to pull him just that bit closer until their chests touched and she could wrap her arms around his neck.

He released her cheek, laying his hands on her waist to pull her on his lap.

His kiss was gentle, yet he was right; he would leave her breathless either way. In many ways it was the same; his touch was maddening, gasping for breath, a laugh of some sorts on her lips, the touch of his hands on her body. Though there was one difference: she did not want to beg for him to stop.

Far from it.

She was drunk on his touch, his kiss.

And she knew that if he asked, she would allow him to bed her tonight.

But he wouldn't pose the question, he was too much of a gentleman for that.

Still–almost involuntarily–she found that her body was quick to let him know she would be all right with this question; pressing down against him everywhere she wanted to feel him.

She gave him a complaining moan when he pulled back from her, it was met with a low chuckle.

"Apologies, love, I'm afraid I need a moment," He stroked his hand through her hair, brushing it behind her ear. "Don't look so disappointed," He smiled as he kissed the tip of her nose.

"It was not something I did, was it?"

"Not at all," He promised. "I just... It has been a while. And I still have to walk home in these trousers. I would prefer them... Not stained."

"Oh... Oh!" Emma nodded, eyes wide as she realised what she meant. "Perhaps we should go home then."

"No, at least here I have some sort of self-control. Should we go home, I might ask you to come to my chamber."

"Maybe I want you to ask me just that," Emma replied huskily.

"It would be bad form of me to not at least properly court you first," He smirked. "But is that something you want, Emma?"

"To be courted by you?"

He chuckled lowly and scratched behind his ear. "Well, I actually meant the other thing, but I believe it would also be nice to know if you would like me to court you."

Emma laughed softly, resting her forehead against his shoulder to hide her blushing cheeks. "I would like to do both things with you, but I fear that neither is without consequences."

* * *

"Miss Emma?" Killian's voice sounded behind them. Mary Margaret turned around with her, her arm still interlocked with Emma's like it had been throughout during their stroll through the garden. It certainly was an odd thing to hear him call her Miss, when they had spent the day kissing each other senseless, and his hands had touched places that should have been reserved for her future husband. But his cool manner of addressing her was a far cry from his low murmur with which he had whispered sinful things in her ear.

"Yes, Milord?" Emma asked, attempting to make her voice as calm as his.

He came just that bit closer, but still not too close that it would be considered be improper. Yet, Mary Margaret's fingers dug just a little harder into Emma's arm. "I have given your request a lot of thought and decided that I will grant you this favour." Mary Margaret looked up at Emma, then at Mr Jones, her eyes wide and filled with anticipation as though she could not believe her own ears. "Under one condition," He then added.

"Of course," Emma nodded, patiently waiting for him to continue, whilst next to her Mary Margaret practically bubbled with enthusiasm.

"They must ask me themselves."

"I will tell them, Milord," Emma spoke as she gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you." He bowed his head at the both of them, and the women dipped into a curtsy in return, before watching him walk away.

Mary Margaret could scarcely contain her excitement and it escaped her with a giggle, quickly she lifted both her hands to cover her mouth. Then she leant closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "He knows, does he not? That it is David and I?"

Emma watched him as he opened the door of his office, looking back over his shoulder briefly and giving her a grin before disappearing inside. "Yes, I believe he does." She laughed softly.

"Oh, I must tell him at once!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, and, without another word of goodbye, left Emma alone in the foyer.

Emma found herself staring at Killian's office door for a moment, searching her mind for a reason to enter. Even after spending a large part of the day with him, and then another part of the day with him and Grace, it still did not feel enough.

But she was not his, she was not entitled to time with him.

So when she did find a reason to talk to him–the letter that she had found between the book he had given her–she found herself to be oddly nervous suddenly. Standing in front of his door, she tugged at her gown, brushing over it to keep it smooth as she built up the courage to knock.

"In," Killian's voice sounded softly.

Her hand lingered above the doorknob long enough for her to hear his chair scrape over the wooden flooring, and soft footsteps coming her way.

He smirked as soon as he opened the door and saw her, though his smirk faded just as quickly. "I would tease you over how I believe this to be the first time you have ever knocked and not entered immediately. Or knocked at all, for that matter," He started, gesturing for her to enter his office.

"But I can tell something serious is troubling you. What is it, Emma?" He questioned as he closed the door gently. Emma had scarcely taken a few steps into the room and thus when she turned around she stood nearly chest to chest with him. He did not budge, and she did so for him, taking a step back to hold the envelope between them.

"I found this," She spoke quietly. There was the slightest stiffening in his posture, but he eased just as quickly. If she had uncovered a secret, it was one he was willing to share with her.

"Where?" He asked, taking it from her and looking at the back of it. "You have not yet read it?"

"Between the book you lend me before your departure," Emma answered, letting him guide her to the two chairs at his desk, the warmth of his steady hand not unwelcome at the small of her back. "I did not read it for I thought you never meant to give it to me in the first place."

"I did not," Killian agreed, gesturing for her to sit down and as he sat down as well. He leant his elbows onto his knees as he toyed with the letter between his fingers, turning it around as though he was deciding what to do with it. "Forgive me, but I can hardly believe you were not the least bit curious."

"Oh, but I was," Emma laughed. "It had my name on it, of course I was curious."

"And yet you did not read it?"

"I thought it said... I was scared, Killian," She whispered then. "We all were. We thought you weren't coming home."

"And why would I not?"

"Perhaps you had got it in your head that we would be better off without you," Emma replied, and looked away from him to her hands folded in her lap as she continued talking. "Or that there was nothing here for you."

Killian laughed softly, taking her hands within his, and looked at her with such an intense gaze that even if she wanted to look away from him again, she could not. He brushed his lips against her knuckles, pressing down soft kisses between the words he spoke. "Emma, you will never have to be afraid that I will not come home. I will always come back to you, I promise."

The way he voiced his thoughts made her heart leap. He would always come back home; back to her.

Suddenly he rose from his chair, releasing his gentle grasp on her hand to briefly hold the letter over a candle, until he was able to open the letter without breaking the seal.

"If you wish to read it," He started, offering the now opened letter to her. "I will not keep you. I promise it is not a letter saying goodbye."

Emma rose to her feet, pushing his hands–and his letter–to his chest. "No, I believe you never intended to give it to me, and you are only doing so now because I confronted you. Once you are truly ready to share its contents with me, then you may give it to me." He gave her a confused smile, but nodded either way. "But for now, goodnight, Killian."

"Goodnight, love."

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Sorry for the wait, lovelies, I was supposed to update before I went to Paris, and then after, Colin just pretty much killed me, so I needed a moment to recover.**

 **I'm so glad you thought the wait for their first kiss had been worth it, so here is some more fluff for you.**

 **Also, I often post sneak peeks to new chapters over on my twitter (which is iswearonemma, by the way), so if you want them sneak peeks, have any questions, or just generally want to know 'hey when's the new update coming' you can come and ask me there (or on my tumblr)! :)**


	18. Eighteen

_Late August, 1816._

Emma had watched them enter his office together, nervously holding onto each other's hand–she could very nearly hear David's fingers break in Mary Margaret's grasp. She had taken up a seat on the stairs, patiently waiting for her friends to come back outside once the door closed. Ruby had joined her not long after, a dusting of flour on her red cheeks and dough still clinging to her fingers said she was finished making tomorrow's bread.

With many servants slowly retiring to bed, offering a smile–and a curious glance at Killian's office door–as they passed by, the mansion had fallen eerily silent. Throughout the day, all servants had quietly come to wish Mary Margaret luck, all of them knowing tonight would be the night they would go to Killian with their request. No one had specifically told them, but after living in this household for the better part of a year, Emma knew gossip spread quickly here. In these past few days, she often worried about being the subject of such gossip, but Ruby–who had, more than once, seen them in compromising situations–assured her that she was not.

It had been a few days since Emma had asked Killian to kiss her, when Emma finally managed to catch Ruby alone. Ruby had only smiled and nodded as Emma so desperately tried to explain herself, and afterwards asked but one question. _Are you happy?_ A laugh had escaped Emma then, tears immediately coming to her eyes as she nodded. It was all she said, though, when Ruby had seen Killian steal a quick kiss before bed a few days later, she had gently warned them to be a bit more careful.

Now, Ruby sat with her head leaning against Emma's shoulder, her knee bouncing up and down as she waited for Mary Margaret and David to emerge back from Killian's office. She huffed and sighed, tapped her fingers on her knee, but never spoke. Emma found it quite the entertaining sight.

When the office door opened, they rose from their spot on the stairs so quickly it made Emma a bit light in her head. Mary Margaret ran towards them quickly, pulling them both into a tight hug.

"Thank you, thank you so much," She whispered to Emma, kissing her cheek and pulling her even closer. Emma smiled, entirely unsure what her part in this was, but her friend had already started saying all the things she desired for her wedding, somewhere along the line mentioning that Mr Jones had given her permission to use the garden if she wished.

Looking over at Killian, she found him already looking at her with that smug grin playing on his lips. Beside him, David stood looking somewhat bewildered as though he had expected their day to end _quite_ differently. After they shook hands, David joined the three women and made their way back to the kitchen. Emma found that David and Mary Margaret were a bit more affectionate now–holding hands, a kiss pressed against her knuckles as they sat down next to each other. A weight had fallen off their shoulders, and the tension that almost permanently furrowed their brow made place for the bright and wide smiles everyone knew so well.

"So, what did he say exactly?" Ruby asked as she poured out tea into the four cups she had set before them.

"He agreed," Mary Margaret stated as though it hadn't been obvious already.

"I gathered as much. I mean, you have been in there for so long, surely you must have conversed more than merely 'may we get married and both remain in your service' to which Killian answered 'yes' and then you sat there in silence for an hour?"

David chuckled at that, putting a spoonful of sugar in his tea. "He asked how we would go about certain things."

"Such as?" Ruby inquired, her eyes wide with anticipation, that teasing grin she often wore playing on her lips.

"Where we would get married, sleeping arrangements, whether or not we would have a child."

"I believe she requires answers to all of those," Emma chuckled when David didn't continue and Ruby practically imploded in her seat.

"Well," Mary Margaret started when David looked at her. "Mr Jones has allowed us to use the garden if we wish. He said there might be rooms down in the old servants' area that could possibly be big enough for a double bed –"

"Wait, hold on," Emma interrupted her before she could go on. "The old servants' area?"

Ruby laughed, "You mean to tell me that you have lived here for nearly a year, and you do not know there is an entire floor beneath this one?"

"No!" Emma exclaimed. "You jest, I'm certain!"

"I will tell you later," Ruby said, turning her attention back to Mary Margaret. "Go on."

"We said we did not see children in our future, that he had been generous enough in allowing us to stay," Mary Margaret said quietly, looking at David as he reached to take her hand in his. It was clear to Emma that they had wanted a child of their own, but were once more limited to their social stance. "He also said that should our desire for a child change, he would send me away but look into giving David more tasks and thus, more wages."

They spoke long after that, Mary Margaret mostly fantasising aloud about her wedding, wondering if Grace would want to be their flower girl, changing her mind about the colour of her dress six times–red being the latest–and wanting a bouquet of Fair Maids of February, but that would mean they would have to wait until the winter to marry, and she did not want that.

When Mary Margaret and David left, each to their respective bed, Ruby poured another cup of tea and brought up the matter of the old servants' area once more. After Grace was born, Killian had more or less given the running of the estate out of hands. With many servants leaving, that responsibility fell into Ruby's hands. To make certain things easier, she had taken up residence in the guest wing and the servants that remained had quickly followed her there. With so many rooms vacant or unused, rooms such as laundry had followed soon after. The ballroom that had stood empty did not change immediately, though slowly but surely that one too had been reformed to accommodate the servants. Killian had never spoken a word about the changes made, he–quite literally–shrugged it off and hid in his office most days.

* * *

"I had thought he would be passed that," Belle said quietly as Emma explained that Killian had left a few hours ago without saying where he went. And then looked around the Petit Salon, her eyes landing on a portrait of Grace Killian had commissioned in early July. Grace, poor darling, had to sit still all day, for quite a few days in a row, whilst Emma and Killian sat nearby reading. He had insisted on staying with her for he did not want her to tire of sitting alone.

"He is," Emma assured her, pouring out a cup of tea for their guest, who in turn gave her a thankful smile. "Surely he must be home soon. Meanwhile, shall I fetch Ruby for you?"

Lady Belle's smile changed a bit then, taking a sip of her tea before shaking her head. "No, I have seen her just now, she seems busy," She remarked, her eyebrows raising up in amusement. Emma laughed softly at that, recalling seeing Ruby, covered in dustings of flour and spices, come out the kitchen carrying a large bowl and a wooden spoon when Emma opened the door to let Lady Belle in. Ruby offered a small smile and a quiet hello before retreating back to the safety of her kitchen.

"Yes, she wants things to be absolutely right tonight," Emma said. "We are not allowed in the kitchen."

Belle chuckled and nodded. "Yes, she has a tendency to get like that. Will you not sit down, Emma?"

"Oh, I eh… Grace and Mr Jefferson should be almost done. She very likely has tasks, so I ought to–"

"I understand," Belle said, getting up from her seat. "I also understand it is not a host's task to entertain. And seeing as the Lord of the mansion is not even present, it most certainly is not your task. I do believe Killian has an impressive library as well, perhaps you might show me?"

"Oh, of course," Emma said, walking with her up the stairs.

"Is Killian still looking for a wife?" Belle inquired quietly as Emma opened the door to the library. Emma drew in her lip and bit down softly.

"I do not know," Emma whispered and took a small curtsy, before taking her leave. As she waited by Grace's study, she thought of how the idea that he was still looking for a wife had not crossed her mind. Well, her mind had not exactly been occupied with thoughts of him marrying another woman when his lips were on her own, with his hands in places that were less than proper.

Emma flinched as the door opened, watching Grace skip out of the room with a large, complacent smile until she stood by Emma's side.

"Miss Emma," Mr Jefferson greeted her with a nod of his head. "Mr Jones requested no tasks for today, so I promise you she is not being dishonest again when she says she has no tasks."

Emma grinned but shook her head. "Thank you, Mr Jefferson. Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow, Miss Swan," He said, putting his hat on and tipping it as Emma took a small curtsy.

"Well," Emma said, running her hand through Grace's hair, in an attempt to brush out some of the knots and make her somewhat presentable. "We have a guest, shall we go say hello?"

Grace skipped through the hall, clearly pleased that for some reason her father had requested no tasks. "Belle!"

"Hello, Gracie," Belle greeted her, setting her book aside to draw Grace into her arms. "Do you ever stop becoming more beautiful?"

"Shall I fetch you some more refreshments?"

"I am not hungry, and I still have tea," She said as she gestured to the pot of tea Emma had given her upon her arrival. "Please join us. Ruby will not allow you in the kitchen anyway." Emma laughed softly, fetching a book from the library and taking a spot on the rug as she always did. Grace sat next to her, quietly playing with her dollhouse.

Emma had been so caught up in her book that when Grace suddenly clasped her arm with a firm grip, her book fell from her grasp into her lap. Though when she saw the thing that had Grace so ecstatic, Emma suddenly found reading a non-essential task.

There, by the double doors that led to the hallway, stood Killian leaning against the doorframe. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his lips curved into a grin, and his eyes averted to the ground, where a small animal carefully made its first steps into the Grand Salon. It was incredibly fluffy, its soft fur white as snow, its black nose and snout round and utmost adorable. It almost looked like a small stuffed bear had come alive, but even though she'd never seen one like these, Emma had enough knowledge to know it was a dog.

Grace sat motionless by Emma's side, her hand still firmly wrapped around Emma's bicep. When the puppy noticed the other people in the room, it very slowly made its way towards them, but not without sniffing at every little thing it found on its way. When it reached the rug they both sat on, Grace slowly released Emma's arm to extend it to the puppy.

When the puppy made its first steps towards her extended hand, she shrieked in excitement and in doing so scared the puppy.

"I'm sorry," She whispered quickly as it stepped away from her, and extended her hand as far as she could without moving from her spot. "I am so sorry, come back, I promise I will be good."

Responding to Grace's soothing tone, the puppy came closer once more. It sniffed her hand briefly before coming even closer and allowing Grace to pet it.

"It is so soft," Grace spoke quietly, keeping her voice calm and gentle as carefully lifted the puppy into her lap.

Killian came closer then, finally acknowledging their guest. "Milady, my sincerest apologies for not being here to welcome you," He spoke, moving to sit on the empty sofa. There was a hint of teasing in his voice, addressing her in the most formal way, even if Emma knew they addressed each other in an informal way in any other situation. "I had a pressing matter to attend to."

"I shall forgive you for this inconsiderate behaviour," Belle replied, her voice equally teasing. "I did have lovely company, and your library is satisfactory."

"I am pleased it satisfies you, though of course, it cannot compare to yours," Killian said, looking back at Grace who had finally allowed the puppy off her lap to venture out into the room more. She had leant her head against Emma's arm, watching the puppy pace around the room. "Do you like her, Gracie?"

"Oh father," Grace sighed dreamily but did not take her eyes off the puppy. "This must be what it feels like to have fallen in love." Emma laughed quietly and rose to her feet, deciding she had overstayed her welcome.

"Might I fetch you anything to drink, Milord?" Emma asked.

"No, thank you," He answered, looking up at her with those intense blue eyes. "Are you leaving, Miss Emma?"

"I do not believe I am in my place here," She said, refusing to look at him.

"I think you are," He spoke adamantly, arching an eyebrow. "You are my daughter's nanny. Sit." Emma took a quick curtsy before sitting back down next to Grace.

"Have you thought of a name yet, Gracie?" Belle asked, giving Emma's hand a comforting squeeze as she smiled at her. Emma might have thought herself to not belong in their company, but the same did not go for Lady Belle. From the moment they had met, Belle had treated her not as a servant, but an equal.

"No," Grace answered. "I have been trying to think of something, how can I name her anything but the perfect name?"

"What of the thing you love most?" Emma suggested, even though she had not a clue what exactly that would be. Grace loved a variety of things, from cinnamon rolls at breakfast, to riding a horse, to taking excessively long baths, stuffed animals.

"I cannot name her _Emma_ , Emma," Grace sighed and rolled her eyes. "Nor can I name her _father_ , for she is not a boy." Emma smiled then, looking at Killian from the corner of her eye, his smile was a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. It tugged at her heart that he still did not think of himself worthy of his daughter's love.

"Certainly there are other things you love."

"Maple syrup," Grace said with a smirk. "Father brought it for me once from a trip, a long time ago." She pursed her lips and pulled the puppy back on her lap, giggling as it licked her hand. "Might I name her Maple, father?"

"She's yours, Gracie," He laughed softly. "You may name her anything you like."

"Good," Grace said, kissing the puppy's nose–and receiving a lick in the face in return. "Hello Maple."

Maple was by Grace's side for the rest of the day, the small puppy following every step. Maple followed her to her bedroom when she went to fetch Maximus to see if the bear was bigger than the dog–and bursting out in a fit of giggles when the bear was, in fact, bigger than the dog. She followed Grace around the room when Grace decided to see how fast her puppy could be. Killian had almost wanted to tell Grace to be a bit quieter when Belle held up her hand to silence him. Grace's shrieking laughter when the puppy excitedly padded behind her amused her to no end.

Somewhere between all her preparations for her feast, Ruby had managed to make dinner for them and their guest. When Mary Margaret came to announce it would be served in a moment, Killian suggested taking the puppy out first, before it peed all over the floor.

Emma stood on the terrace, her fingers fiddling with her gown as she watched Grace skip through the grass with the puppy running behind her, when she heard the door open.

"Is dinner ready?" Emma asked looking over her shoulder to find Killian instead of Mary Margaret as she had expected.

"Almost," He answered and came to stand next to her, close enough to touch. And he did. He brushed the back of his hand against hers, blindly interlacing his fingers with hers.

"Shall I have dinner down with–"

"No." His thumb brushed over her hand as he spoke quietly. "Have dinner with us, please." Emma nodded and laid her head against his shoulder before she well realised what she was doing. Anyone could see now, Grace could turn her head, Mary Margaret or Ruby could come to fetch them for dinner, another servant could walk through the hallway. But he didn't pull away, instead he pressed a long kiss against her hair and squeezed her hand softly.

"Thank you," Emma whispered.

"What for?"

She looked up at him, but he did not return her gaze. "For allowing Mary Margaret and David to marry and remain, as well as giving Grace the most adorable dog that I've ever seen and making her so very happy."

"Does it make _you_ happy?"

"Which part?"

"All of it."

"Yes," Emma answered. "Very much so."

He merely hummed and lifted his head as a barely-there nod.

After dinner–no _, darling Maple can't sit with us at the table_ –the four of them sat by the fire once more, mostly reading or making quiet conversation whilst Grace played with her dolls sitting as motionless as possible as Maple slept on her lap.

Emma had quietly risen from her seat to light the candles in the Grand Salon when Ruby entered the room, requesting whether Belle would like to join in their festivities, with the promise that lowly folks knew how to enjoy themselves. Belle had chuckled quietly and excused herself with her hosts and followed Ruby out of the room.

Grace had asked whether she was allowed to go too, and when her father said no, she asked Emma the same question. Emma had laughed softly and offered that she shouldn't leave Maple alone. Strangely enough, Grace had agreed, petting the sleeping puppy in her lap and thanked her father for what felt like the twentieth time. Killian had brushed it off before he excused himself, but not without reminding Grace that bedtime was in an hour.

Grace had simply nodded, unable to take her eyes off Maple.

"Where is Grace?" Killian asked when he entered the Grand Salon again an hour later. "It is nearly time for bed." Emma smiled and rose from her spot by the fire, gesturing for him to follow quietly.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Grace's voice sounded as they neared the room Emma guided him to. "Father is teaching Emma to ride a horse so that she can go on rides with us."

"Who is she talking to?" Killian whispered.

Emma gave him an almost sad smile, yet remained quiet as they came to a halt before the room with the paintings. It had been a few days since Emma first found Grace there after losing her just before bedtime. Emma found her sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by the paintings of her mother–the ones Killian did not yet have the courage for to hang them–cross-legged, sipping her warm milk as she had a one-sided conversation.

"I am glad he has grown as fond of her as I am." A soft laugh came. "Well, I think he likes her in a different way. But he is _so_ scared. Maybe if you were here you could tell him it is all right to fall in love with her. But then, if you were here, Emma wouldn't be here either. He is happy though, I am happy, I hope you are too." A sob, and then a quiet whisper. "I miss you so much, mommy."

Emma looked up at Killian, finding him staring at the wall beside her. With his jaw firmly set and tears threatening to spill. She knew exactly how he felt. The first time she'd heard Grace talk to her mother, Emma had nearly sunk to her knees. The feeling of helplessness had overcome her, clutching at her heart and kicking at her stomach. She listened to Grace speak of her father, telling her mother that he was doing better. That he had stopped drinking and found it within himself to be a better man and a better father.

As a tear rolled over his cheek, Emma reached out for him almost instinctively and wiped it away with her thumb.

He leant into her touch. "Sorry," He whispered. She gave him a smile that said she had cried too, the first time she found Grace talking to the paintings.

After putting Grace to bed–it took some convincing, but after twenty minutes, her father finally allowed Maple to sleep on the bed with her–Emma went downstairs to join the other servants in their celebrations. Ruby greeted her excitedly, offering her a glass of wine almost immediately upon entering. She looked a bit disappointed when she noticed Killian was not following Emma, but didn't let it foul her mood.

Most of the furniture had been moved to the side, nearly restoring the ballroom to its former purpose.

Belle stood with Mary Margaret by the side, no doubt having to listen to an endless conversation about wedding gowns. Emma wondered whether Mary Margaret had changed her mind about the colour once again since the last time she had spoken to her. Which was it again? Red. No, that was last night. This morning it had been pale blue.

David sat with August on one of the discarded tables and played a game of piquet.

As many other servants, Ella was deeply engaged in conversation–and drinks.

Ruby darted around the room, making sure everyone's glasses were always filled until she got bored of it and suggested a game of Buffy Gruffy.

The room erupted in sounds of agreement, everyone quickly taking a chair.

Emma noticed him standing in the doorway before anyone else did, whether his smile was of amusement or mockery, Emma genuinely could not tell. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

"Killian!" Ruby suddenly yelled enthusiastically and ran towards him.

"No!" He said sternly, but before he could walk away, Ruby had already grabbed his hand within hers and dragged him along.

"You cannot deny me," Ruby smiled, gesturing for someone to set an extra chair in the circle. "It _is_ my birthday." Much to his dismay, Belle approved loudly, and soon enough other servants found their voice. A game of Buffy Gruffy would be the perfect opportunity to mock him, and to have him in the room whilst doing so would be even more fun.

Of course, Ruby put him in the midst of the circle first–Emma could practically hear him groan as Ruby put the blindfold on him. Ruby clapped her hands once and everyone quickly found a seat.

Emma noticed the way his hands formed into fists by his side, more out of nervousness than anything else. Carefully he took his first steps forward, away from her. That is, until a giggle erupted from behind him and he turned on his heel. This time, still carefully, walking in her direction. His knees bumped against her as he tested whether the seat was occupied.

"Oh bloody hell," He mumbled, scratching behind his ear. "Are you female?"

"Yes," Emma answered, disguising her voice. The tension in his shoulders eased a little, it betrayed he already knew who she was and she had done a poor job of disguising her voice.

"Do you have a fondness of tormenting me?" He asked quietly.

"Not at all," Emma answered, still keeping her voice low.

"Do you enjoy losing yourself in a book?"

"Yes."

"Are you Miss Emma?"

"I am," She answered and rose from her chair as he took off the blindfold. A small round of applause sounded paired with laughter and giggles. He walked with her to the centre of the circle where he helped her put on the blindfold. His gentle fingers brushed over her neck, whether it was to secure the blindfold or for another reason entirely, she could not help the chills that appeared on the back of her neck.

Shuffling sounded and she felt Killian disappear from behind her, leaving her alone in the darkness. Suddenly she understood how Killian felt. You could see nothing, but you knew everyone was staring.

She'd never played the game before, only seen it played before. The person in the blindfold gets to ask three questions to the person in front of them who has disguised his or her voice, if the blindfolded person was correct, the person on the chair takes their place, if he or she was wrong, another turn is played.

A loud clap filled the silent room and Emma slowly stepped away from the middle of the circle until she found a pair of knees.

"Are you a friend?" Emma asked.

"I am," A disguised voice answered, but it was clearly female. Though Emma liked all the servants in the household, Emma only considered two of them to be her actual friend.

"Is it your birthday?"

"No," The voice answered.

Emma smirked. "Have you picked a colour for your wedding dress yet?" Laughter from multiple people came from behind her, leading Emma to believe that Mary Margaret'd had this conversation with quite possibly everyone in the household.

"Yes. Green," Came the disguised voice, and then, in Mary Margaret's own voice, "I _think_."

Emma laughed. "Surely you must be Mary Margaret."

"Yes!"

As Killian had done for her, Emma walked with Mary Margaret to the middle of the and helped her with the blindfold. Around her everyone started changing seats, when she turned around to search the room for an empty seat she found that the only one was the one next to Killian. She smiled at him as she sat down, and for a brief moment he returned her smile; he still did not want to be here, but sitting beside her eased that feeling.

"Are you male?" Mary Margaret asked once she'd found a pair of knees.

"I am," David answered, masking his voice to sound deeper than usual. Mary Margaret chuckled lowly, clearly already knowing who stood before her.

She grinned instead, "Were you, until recently a very sad human being?"

David laughed at that, and if Mary Margaret was not certain of who stood in front her, she definitely knew it now. One of the many purposes of this game, besides entertainment and a good laugh, was the opportunity to mock a person in the room, under the guise of playfulness. Emma had not taken this opportunity–nor had Killian–but Mary Margaret had no issue with it.

Next to her, Killian laughed softly, staring at his hands in his lap as he shook his head.

"No," David answered.

Mary Margaret tapped her lip. "Are you to be married soon?"

"I should hope so."

In a moment of a laughter and clapping when Mary Margaret guessed correctly, Killian rose from his chair without drawing too much attention to himself. More so to Emma, than anyone else, he excused himself.

Ruby locked eyes with Emma from her spot across the room, giving her a nod that said _go_.

Emma walked up the stairs in the darkness of the mansion, she could still hear the faint laughter coming from the servants' area, though the sound disappeared nearly completely when she reached the top of the stairs.

"Killian?" Emma questioned as she entered the library.

"Close the door," He spoke, emerging from the shelves, holding a key between his fingers and toying with it in a manner in which she would have dropped it twice already.

Her chest rose and fell quickly as she let him back her up against the cool wood of the closed door.

"Are you well?" She asked.

"Hmm," He hummed lowly, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. Her breath caught in her throat when his hand brushed past her waist and locked the door behind her with an anticipatory click. Thoughts raced through her mind as he lifted his hand to play with a loose hanging lock of her hair. Would he kiss her again? Would he ask her or would he simply demand the kiss from her? Take it without question, even if she would be more than willing to give. Still, he always held her honour in high esteem, even if she was but a lowly girl. He spoke with her as though she was a highborn Lady, his touches were those of a respectful man. And he never looked at her as though he imagined doing sinful things with her.

At least, his thoughts seemed proper when they were among company.

And definitely not now.

She recognised the way he looked at her, it was the same way he did when he kissed her in the field. His eyes were dark, filled with lust; his pupils blown wide. She read enough books to know what that meant.

He wanted her.

And she wanted him.

Her hands reached up to his chest when he took yet another step closer, his body still not touching her. But she could feel the heat coming from him, or perhaps it were her own thrilling thoughts that made her feel as though her body was on fire and she desperately needed to cool down.

She felt Killian's heart beat firmly underneath her fingertips and she wondered if he felt as nervous being around her as she was with him.

"Are you all right, Emma?" He asked with a chuckle, tracing his cold fingers over her jaw.

"Yes, why?" She answered, taking a deep breath that ached her tight chest.

"Over these past few minutes, I have watched your cheeks colour completely and utterly crimson as your breathing seemed to stop working properly –"

"You are relentless."

"Am I?"

"Yes!" Emma exclaimed. " _You_ asked _me_ whether I enjoy tormenting you, and here you are doing that exact thing to me. You stare at me and I have not a clue what is going on in your mind."

"You wish to know what is happening in my mind?" He asked, she eyed him for a moment only to find his question to be a genuine one.

"Yes," She replied, the word falling from her lips like a gasp.

"As you wish," He spoke softly, looking away from her briefly as though to gather courage before locking his eyes with hers, capturing her gaze and refusing to let go. "I am marvelling at your beauty. At your eyes, the way they see not a broken man but a man worthy of your love. At your nose, the way I want you to bury it in my neck as you have done before and stay there for who knows how long as I get to hold you. At the dusting of freckles on your nose and cheeks, and the way they seem to hold constellations like a beautifully clear night sky. At your lips, and the reminder of your kiss, and how I want to feel them against mine again, and again, and _again_." Emma found herself staring at him, her heart beating frantically in her chest, demanding to be given to him. _It is yours. I am yours. All yours_. "Say something, Emma."

"I'm afraid I cannot. You've stolen any sensible thought from my mind."

"Might I kiss you, then?" He asked quietly, already stepping closer. He knew the answer, of course, she had no desire to deny him. Still he asked, as he had done twice now in these last few days, when she walked out of the Grand Salon with him just before bedtime. And then he would kiss her, just a quick and brief kiss before he bid her goodnight. She would never tire of the feeling of his lips on her own.

She knew this kiss would not be a bedtime kiss, he would kiss her as he had done that day in the field, leave her breathless and with hope that he would ask her to join him in his bedroom.

"Yes."

His lips were on hers before she had well spoken the word.

* * *

 _ **AN:** Thank you so, so much for your support with your reviews & comments, here, on tumblr, twitter, it truly means the world to me. I'm so incredibly grateful! _

_I pushed very hard to get this chapter done before I leave to NY to see Jen's play (in four days! I'm so nervous), I thought I wasn't going to make it, but yay. I'm not entirely certain how long it will be until the next chapter, but I hope you'll forgive me if it's not here within the month._

 _Please let me know what you thought, here or come yell at me on tumblr (joneskillian) or twitter (iswearonemma), I would be more than happy to answer any questions, listen to any (constructive) criticism you might have._

 _Please forgive any mistakes as this chapter was un-beta'ed, if there aren't any horrifyingly embarrassing mistakes, I might continue to do it without one._

Edit: the dog Killian got her is a Pomeranian, I was gonna go for a golden retriever, but apparently they didn't exist back then.

Dogs were actually not commonly kept as pets in that time, not until later that era, but it was done.


	19. Nineteen

_Mid-September, 1816._

"Miss Emma?" Killian asked before she could take her leave, Ruby waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He rarely called her that anymore when they were alone, but when they weren't he kept to the proper way of addressing her.

"Yes, Milord?" Emma answered quietly.

Killian briefly looked at Ruby–who was still waiting at the bottom of the stairs, seemingly having no intention of leaving them alone–and took a step closer. "Have you ever seen a theatre play?"

Emma gave him an amused scoff. "You jest, surely?"

"Would you like to?" She frowned at his question. "Lord Avery and I will be seeing a play next week. He requested you join, but I am certain he will understand if you do not wish to join us."

"And what of Grace?"

"Oddly enough, with all her theatrics you would think differently, but Grace is not particularly fond of theatre, she finds them dull. I am certain Ruby and the girls can look after her for one night."

Emma nodded once and pursed her lips.

"It's fine, Emma, go," Ruby said from below.

Emma smiled, turning back to Killian. "Then I would love to go. Oh, perhaps I might wear my gown again. The red one that –"

Killian laughed softly and raised his hand to silence her. "Do not be silly, you will be getting a new one. Perhaps you might go tomorrow, Grace requires new gowns as well, she is growing so fast these days." Emma knew that all too well, the dress she had given Grace for Christmas, the one that she had especially made a bit larger so that Grace would still fit in it during the summer months had already been a bit too small the last time she wore it.

"Thank you," Emma whispered, taking a quick curtsy–more out of habit than anything else–and started her descend down the stairs.

"Oh, and Emma?"

"Yes?"

"Red becomes you," He spoke lowly and winked at her, a grin tugging at his lips.

* * *

"Ruby?" Emma heard Killian's deep voice at the beginning of the servants' hallway. Grace grabbed hold of Emma's hand as she flinched, giving her an encouraging nod. Grace had been by her side all evening, helping Mary Margaret and Ruby to prepare Emma for the theatre.

Ruby poked her head out of the door, the lip pomade still in her hands. "Yes, Killian?"

"Is she nearly ready?"

Ruby looked back to Emma, smirking as she saw Emma in a state of panic, and stuck her head back out of the door. "Almost!"

"Then I will see her when she is ready," He replied with a deep sigh. Emma could almost see him throw his hands up in defeat, and then stuffing them in his pockets.

"You have no need to be nervous, Emma," Grace promised, looking at Emma through the reflection in the mirror.

"I know, Gracie," Emma whispered. "I simply…" She sighed and looked at her own reflection. Mary Margaret had once again put up her hair in the most intricate, Lady-like fashion. Emma had known for a while now that she had once been a Lady's personal maid, but it always surprised her just how beautiful her hair looked after Mary Margaret was done with it. Ruby, who had no issue with wearing make up, even if society frowned upon it, had mastered the talent of making it appear as though someone was not wearing make up, when in truth they were.

"He will think you are beautiful," Grace commented and tucked a wayward strand behind Emma's ear. The young girl looked at her as though she had created a masterpiece and was making an attempt at detecting any flaws. "I am certain of it."

Emma smiled almost shyly at that. Certainly, Grace was but a child, but it was clear she knew and understood more than one would think.

"Thank you, Grace."

"I believe we have kept him waiting long enough, now," Ruby spoke as Mary Margaret entered with Emma's cloak. Emma had insisted she wouldn't need one, the early evening was still warm enough, but Mary Margaret had, in turn, insisted that by the time they would return it would have cooled down plenty. "Time to go."

"Look at you," Mary Margaret said upon handing Emma the cloak. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at Emma the way she always imagined her mother would look at her. "You look so beautiful."

"All right," Ruby grinned and rubbed her friend's shoulders before she would truly cry. "She looks beautiful, we did well."

"Yes," Emma agreed with a smile. "Thank you, all of you."

Though Grace had only helped with assisting Ruby and Mary Margaret in giving and fetching them the things they asked for–or getting distracted by Maple adorably sleeping on Emma's bed–Grace seemed very proud to be included. "You are welcome!"

Emma nervously stepped out in the hallway, making her way through the mansion on shaking legs. She was afraid they would give out on her, certainly when she saw Killian, standing by the open doors, fiddling with his top hat. He wore a grey ensemble that she had not seen him wear before, but it suited him rather well.

"Emma–" He cleared his throat and shook his head almost unnoticeably, watching her as she made her way toward him. The way her gown was just a bit longer in the back made her once again feel like a true princess. The way he bowed before him, and she curtsied in return. The way he looked at her, taking in every detail from her hair to her velvet gown, and the cloak nervously held in her hands, made her feel as though she properly belonged by his side today. He was handsome, of course, there was no denying that. And she had been told often enough that she had a certain beauty about her. But mostly when she stood next to him, he was always dressed in the finest cloths–Emma doubted he owned anything that was more than a year old–and she was making the most of her outworn dresses, saving all of her earnings so that she could treat herself to a new dress one day, she wondered how she could possibly stand by his side and give people the impression that he would willingly be with her.

But today, she felt as though she belonged, even if the dress had been a gift–something she would have never been able to purchase on her own. "You look beautiful," He said, far more composed than the way in which he had blurted out her name, then looking past her with an arched eyebrow. Emma followed his stare to where Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Grace poked their heads through the kitchen door, giggling quietly. "Shall we?" He asked, offering his arm as the proper gentleman he was.

"Please," Emma laughed, laying her palm on his arm.

"Put her to bed at nine," Killian said sternly, turning to the kitchen door where the girls still stood with wide grins plastered on their faces.

"Yes, Sir," Ruby answered innocently and patted Grace's head, who in turn looked up and shared a grin with her. Though Grace had not been able to convince her father to allow her to stay up until they came home again, it had been clear to Emma that Grace would definitely be taking advantage of neither her father nor Emma being there to tuck her in. It had also been clear to Emma that both Ruby and Mary Margaret would be easily talked into letting Grace stay up past her bedtime.

"It would be a miracle if she is in bed before we return home," Killian muttered under his breath, more so to himself than to Emma, but Emma laughed nonetheless. As they walked outside he tugged her closer to him and nodded at her gown. "I see you have remembered my recommendation. Are you looking to please me?"

"Not at all, _Milord_ ," Emma teased. "Red is simply a rather good colour on me."

"It certainly is," He answered with a grin, helping her in the carriage as Thomas opened the door for them.

"Is Lord Avery not joining us?" Emma questioned as she sat down. Instead of sitting across from her as would be expected, he took the seat next to her without question, his leg brushing hers as he sat down.

"He will meet us there," He replied, taking the cloak from her hands and laying it on the seat opposite of them. "He sent an early letter that he would not be on time to send us a carriage."

Emma nodded, remaining quiet before asking the question that had played over and over in her mind. "Will Eleanor be there?"

"Would that make you jealous, love?" He retorted with a grin, taking her hand in his and brushing a faint kiss against her knuckles.

"No," Emma answered stubbornly, but refused to look at him. He simply chuckled in response, his breath warm against the back of her hand. She sighed promptly as he remained silent. "Certainly it cannot have escaped your notice?"

"That she is infatuated with me? I tend to have that effect on women. It is not my fault."

"She is _sixteen_ years old, Killian."

"Seventeen, actually," He corrected her but gave an apologetic grin once he saw she did not see the humour in it. "I know, but whether or not I indulge them in their infatuations is my choice, and I can promise you I have never indulged her."

"Have you indulged other women?" Emma asked shyly, toying with the soft fabric of her dress. "After Lady Milah, I mean."

"I have," He replied honestly, and she looked up at him immediately. The sincerity in his eyes revealed he would be willing to answer any question she had right now–no matter how improper–unlike the other times when he'd mostly avoided her questions. "But only until I met you."

She frowned, tilting her head. "Me?"

"If I am being honest, I may as well continue," He laughed softly and reached behind his ear. "I have always wanted you, Emma. Though, the way in which I wanted you has changed over the months. In the very beginning, I had hoped you would simply be a replacement for Miss Charlotte. For Grace's benefit, _as well_ as mine."

"Oh," Emma exclaimed softly. "You and..."

"Yes," He answered just as quietly.

"How many times?"

"Truthfully, I cannot recall most of the times. But I know she only came to my chamber when she wanted to. I stopped receiving her visits when she met the man she married."

"Does her husband know?"

"I do not believe so. Whom she decided to tell was her choice, not mine. Though, I believe Ruby was well aware. She has a tendency to know everything that happens in my household." Emma laughed softly and nodded. "As I was saying. I quickly realised you would not be a simple replacement for Miss Charlotte. You were far more clever and proper than she was. And there was the matter that I did not like you." Emma stiffened slightly, her fingers grasping at her gown, the fabric bunching up in her fists. He reached for her hands, gently taking them in his and pressing a soft kiss against her fingertips. "You frustrated me, Emma," He laughed and kissed the palm of her hand. "You cared too much, but I knew you were right and I was willing to listen. I believe that is exactly what frustrated me so much: how easily I was willing to listen to you."

"It certainly took me a while to get through to you."

"You know me, darling, I am a stubborn man." He whispered against her wrist. "And eventually I found that I did not want you in the same way I did before. I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to hold you. I still wanted you to visit my chamber, do not misunderstand me, but I did not want you to leave after we were done. I wanted to sleep next to you, to hold you in my arms, and wake up to the sight of you." She watched him curiously as a sigh escaped him and he forced his eyes shut.

It would be so easy to lean forward, just those few inches to close the gap between them and kiss him. She knew he would let her kiss him especially because it made her stop asking questions. But there were more things she wanted to know.

"Yet you tried courting other women." It was not necessarily a question, but it seemed a better thing to say than to simply ask _if you wanted me, why didn't you say so, why didn't you do something about it?_ Because the answer would be very easy. She was still a servant, he was still a Lord, and though he may have done many things a Lord shouldn't have, courting a servant would certainly raise some eyebrows in society. To say the least.

"Tried," He chuckled and shook his head. "A poor attempt was made. None of them compared. Eventually I had to accept that I would not find anyone that could possibly live up to the expectations you had set so high. But it certainly took a few people to make me see that."

"Lady Aurora?" Emma asked, recalling the things Lady Aurora had said to her in Versailles.

Killian nodded. "Belle. Ruby, too."

"Ruby?"

"As I mentioned, Ruby has a tendency to know everything. And then there was Grace, who very often asked whether I had fallen in love with you. My answers have changed over the past few months, starting with a very clear no."

"And ending with?" Emma questioned boldly.

Killian grinned, leaning closer as the carriage came to a halt. "I think you know," He murmured lowly as he brushed his lips over her cheek to kiss it briefly before he got up from his seat to sit back in the seat across her.

Thomas opened the carriage door barely a few seconds later, announcing that they had arrived. After getting out of the carriage, Killian extended his hand for Emma to take.

Emma stared up at the beautiful building, anchoring herself to Killian as they walked, fully trusting him to make sure she would not run into anyone. She recalled the building from her childhood, the first orphanage she'd been in had not been too far from here. But since they tore it down and Emma was separated from the few friends she had, to be sent to another orphanage, Emma had not seen the building anymore.

It still looked the same as she remembered. It was a tall, beige building, curtains drawn at every window, a balcony on the first floor, impressive arches to enter the theatre. Emma had often imagined the theatre on the inside, seeing the wealthy people walk inside, thinking the inside contained chairs of gold, sparkling drinks, expensive foods, elaborate plays.

She almost gasped as Killian walked inside with her. It was almost as beautiful as she imagined, though her imagination had not accounted for the paintings with frames of gold leaf, velvet curtains, or the tall ceiling with a stunning scene of Angels in Heaven.

The people inside still looked as wealthy as she remembered, but contrary to her childhood, they did not shoot her dirty looks or angry glances, instead they smiled at her or tipped their hats at her. They thought she was one of them now, instead of a poor orphan, dressed in rags, dreaming of maybe one day seeing the inside of the stunning building.

"Beautiful, no?" Killian tore her from her thoughts.

"Yes," Emma agreed quietly, hesitating before continuing. "As a child I used to walk by this building as we went to the market. I never dreamt I would see the inside."

"Or see a play?" Killian asked, the warm smile on his lips was compassionate and careful. It occurred to Emma she had not often spoken of her childhood, not that there was much to speak of. Killian didn't know the name of her closest friend, he didn't know that she enjoyed painting as a child. There were little things he didn't know of her, but she knew there were many little things she didn't know about him either.

"Or see a play," Emma agreed then, a small smile on her lips.

"Lord Jones?" An unfamiliar voice called out, Killian turned to face the person calling out for him, in doing so stepping even closer to Emma. "Lord Avery sends his apologies, he will not be joining you today. As token of apology, he has paid for your seats and insists you have a great time without him."

"Of course," Killian nodded. Suddenly Emma felt his body ease, the tension with which he had carried himself through the day slowly fading. The muscles underneath her fingertips slowly releasing tension. "Thank you."

Upon entering their box Killian had scoffed at the three chairs, but had not further elaborated. Emma quickly came to understand that the box was supposed to have more than three guests, and Killian had simply been agitated at Lord William's show of wealth by renting the entire box tonight.

But he had not been agitated for long, certainly not when he'd taken his chair and shoved it closer to hers, holding her hand nearly the entire time. Emma couldn't say she minded it very much. Nor did she mind the stolen kisses, or the kisses placed on the back of her hand, or below her ear. She'd thoroughly enjoyed every single one of their kisses.

Emma had recognised the play as a Shakespearean story almost immediately. Though it hadn't been one of her favourites, she certainly had a fondness for the story. Even if she ended up distracted by Killian more times than she cared to count.

After the play was done he'd kissed her one last time in the shadows of their box before opening the curtain for her.

Just before they stepped outside, and Killian went to fetch his coat and hat, Emma found herself once again fascinated by the paintings on the ceilings, she had seen them before, in Lady Belle's estate, but they were too beautiful to not give them one last glance before they left.

"Shall we go or would you like to stay and take it in some more?" Killian's voice sounded behind her, his breath tickling her ear. He teased, however, there was genuineness in his words as well. It was the teasing though, that made her shake her head. "We can come back again, if you would like that."

"I would like that very much," She said, taking his arm to walk outside with him.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, finding Thomas in the crowds and waving at him. Thomas quickly jumped off his seat and opened the door to the carriage.

"Starving," Emma answered with a soft, complaining groan, holding onto his hand to get into the carriage. Once more he took the seat next to her, closing the curtain to give them total privacy. In the darkness she could feel him shifting, his breath suddenly warm on her neck.

"Have dinner with me?" He asked quietly, his voice so low, so soft, it practically sent shivers all over her spine. His lips brushed over her exposed skin, his fingers tracing over her wrist. He knew exactly what he had to do to slowly drive her into insanity. She had been so caught up in him that when the carriage moved with a sudden jolt, she flinched hard enough for him to chuckle. "I've got you, I promise. Though, if you wish, you may come a little closer."

"I am already nearly seated on your lap," Emma protested.

"I would not be opposed to that," He grinned, his fingertips tracing over her neck. "So, will you have dinner with me?"

"Very well," She sighed dramatically, as though it was a sacrifice that he asked of her. "I will have dinner with you."

"Good, for I've already asked Ruby to prepare us a three-course meal." His hand was now tracing over the stitching of her gown. Emma had noticed that throughout the entire evening, he could scarcely keep his hands off her. And she relished in every single touch. "We will start with escargots, then –"

"Wait, what of Grace? And what are escargots?"

"Grace will already be in bed–hopefully," Killian chuckled, "Lady Belle introduced me to escargots, they're snails. It is a delicacy."

Emma pulled a face. "I'm certain it is."

Killian chuckled. "Do you not trust me?"

"I do trust you. But I believe I will pass on this delicacy of yours."

"Believe me, darling," He grinned wickedly as he spoke. "I would never ask you to have my delicacy, I am too much of a gentleman for that."

"Killian!" She exclaimed and hit her hand against his shoulder as she realised what he meant. He grinned even wider and pulled her legs over his lap, hooking his arm around her waist to pull her closer and kissed her. It had been a kiss waiting to happen, all night he had been nothing more than a proper gentleman, his kisses were scarce and chaste.

But there was a hunger in his eyes, and by looking at him, Emma could tell he might snap once they were alone. And she spent all night eagerly awaiting that moment.

His kiss was far from chaste this time. There was a held back hunger, a pressing urgency. She could feel in the way he kissed her, that he wanted more than just her kiss this time.

She could also feel it when his hand found its way underneath her skirt. The anticipation made her heart beat even faster, though when she felt his fingers trace across her stockings she stilled, breaking away from his kiss. Sudden nervousness overcame her, but then she met his wide, questioning eyes. _Must I stop?_

And she shook her head, bringing her lips to his once more for more passionate kisses and breathless gasps.

Slowly his hand trailed up her leg, above her knee where her stocking ended, and when his fingers touched the bare skin of her leg it felt as though her whole body stood aflame.

A quiet gasp escaped her and he responded with another unspoken question, which she had yet again answered with the shake of her head.

A thrilling chill crept across her spine when his fingertips brushed over her thigh, slowly brushing across her upper leg until they reached her inner thigh.

"Open your legs, Emma," He whispered against her lips. She hesitated for a moment, the tension in her body clenching her legs together even more before spreading them.

Her fingers bunched up the fabric of his coat as he teased at her entrance.

"Don't stop, please," She pleaded. Her voice barely resembled a voice anymore and instead her words came out as a raspy gasp. It must have amused him a great deal, for he smiled almost devilishly before he kissed her again. A quiet moan escaped her lips as he pushed two fingers inside her.

"Oh," She sighed, when his fingers moved inside her, her knuckles whitening as her grip on his coat grew tighter. His kisses paired with the movements of his fingers buried deep inside her, sparked quiet moans from her. Her face buried in his neck, her moans muffled against his skin.

He responded as her body did, easily finding the one spot she preferred.

When he sought her lips to kiss them, their kiss was a sloppy one. Emma found herself more preoccupied with not completely falling apart, than with kissing him properly. Her moans were swallowed up in their kiss, his fingers picking up their pace.

"Killian." She found herself surprised by how her voice resembled a pathetic plea more than anything.

"Let go, darling," He spoke in his sinfully low whisper, his lips faintly brushing her neck. And just like that, she fell over the edge. A held-back moan falling over her trembling lips, her fingers tugging at the fabric of his coat, her face buried in his neck.

He gave her a moment to gather herself, her breathing becoming slightly more even again, her cramped fingers slowly releasing his coat. "Are you well?" He asked quietly, taking his handkerchief from his pockets to clean his fingers.

"Hmm," She nodded, though her answer sounded more like a pathetic whimper.

He chuckled softly and kissed her temple. "Well, don't fall asleep on me, love, you promised to have dinner with me."

"How am I supposed to look at you?" She whispered. He laid his fingers underneath her chin and made her face him, his eyes were dark still, but his expression was almost serene, not as lustful as she had expected him to look. He had brought her to satisfaction, but expected nothing in return.

"Like this," He said and kissed each burning cheek once. "You are beautiful."

She smiled weakly, inclined to believe the sincerity of his words.

"You never told me what else was for dinner," Emma breathed.

"It suddenly seemed frivolous." He chuckled quietly. "You will see soon enough."

* * *

Ruby greeted them both with a grin when they entered and for a moment Emma feared she knew what Killian had done to her in the carriage. It would be impossible, of course, but somehow Ruby always knew everything. Instead she announced that their dinner was ready to be served, if they wished.

Emma took his hand as he offered it, and walked next to him up the stairs. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight, love?" He asked quietly, his thumb gently rubbing across her fingers.

"I did," Emma answered. "Though, I must admit I do not wish for it to end yet."

"Good," He said and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles once they reached the top of the stairs. He'd kissed her hand so many times before–bloody hell, he'd kissed her lips before–but it still managed to send warmth through her body, pressing her stomach together and tying a nice tight bow around it. "Perhaps after dinner, we might sit by the fire."

"I should like that," Emma replied quietly.

"What is it?"

They had not truly spoken to each other about their situation. Finding out that he had once done the same thing with Charlotte made Emma wonder if there was anything to speak of at all, but the way he had brought her to her release just moments ago, Emma found herself not caring anymore. She wanted to know. She _needed_ to know.

"I want to join you in your chamber tonight," She spoke then, her voice tight in her throat, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest, the bow tied around her stomach even tighter. His face was one of shock first, and then understanding. "But I want dinner first, I am hungry."

"I believe they call this making demands, is there anything else you want, Lady Swan?" He spoke lowly.

"Kiss me?"

Emma wasn't quite sure, but it felt as though there had been an unspoken rule in regards to not kissing if there was someone who could see. Especially with Ruby having seen them not once, not twice, but three times.

The day of Ruby's party, Killian had specifically locked both doors that led to the library. And he had kissed her against the book shelves, his kiss hungry and hot, low moans involuntarily escaping the both of them.

She had mumbled a quiet sorry when she'd accidentally bit his lip, her body shaking with desire and uncontrollable emotion.

He'd laughed softly at that, waving his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck. It had been pulled up to attend Ruby's celebrations, but after having bumped against nearly every shelf in the library, it had come slightly undone. And along the way he slowly took out the rest of the pins and told her he liked her hair loose between two breath-stealing kisses. "Please don't ever apologise for that," He'd said and kissed her again. It was how she learnt that tugging at lips was quite all right.

Emma knew he'd gone well past beyond the point where he had stopped their kiss that day in the field. She felt it when he sat down on one of the chairs before the already burning fire and pulled her into his lap.

He had kissed her bruised lips far more gently once they'd sat down. His nose gently brushing along her neck and kissing her collarbone. His fingers tracing over the swell of her breasts. There had been something equally innocent and sinful about the lazy kisses.

The thrill of having to be careful so that no one would see had not been there for once, and it was just them.

And now, standing in a hallway where Ruby could walk up with their dinner at any moment, that feeling presented itself once more.

"As you wish," He smiled, laying his hand on her waist and pulling her close with a quick tug.

* * *

After a quiet dinner, seated across from each other as was proper, Emma sat with her arms folded underneath her head as she watched him play the piano.

"Do you sing?" Emma asked as he hummed along to the gentle music he played.

He chuckled lightly and shook his head, "Only to get Grace to fall asleep, when she was a babe." He cleared his throat, his voice filled with pain as he continued to talk. "She used to cry so much, like she felt the pain of losing her mother. I did not know what to do, so I sang to her, my voice seemed to soothe her. But in truth, I had no idea how to care for a child. I was twenty-three, I was still practically a child myself," He shook his head. "So I placed an advert in the newspaper, to which Miss Charlotte responded. And then it became so easy to leave her behind... Sorry, you just asked me if I sang, not –"

"It's all right, Killian," Emma interrupted him. "I like it when you talk about those things."

"You like it when I talk about my heart being broken?"

"That's not what I meant," Emma smiled. He returned her smile with a nod. "Did you want children?"

"I did, but I definitely wanted to wait a little longer. But Milah was older and she desperately wanted children. I loved her so much, I wanted to give her anything she asked for." Something in his expression betrayed that he was done talking about it. "Why did you ask if I sang?"

Emma shrugged. "Curiosity, I believe. Sometimes you speak lyrically, and when you speak softly it makes me think you might have a nice singing voice."

"Do you sing?"

"Only to myself," Emma laughed.

"Do you play any instruments?"

"No, they did not have that in the orphanage."

"Of course, I apologise."

"No it's all right," Emma spoke. "There were many things I didn't know how to do, since coming here I have learnt so many new things already."

"You want to learn how to play an instrument, then?" He smirked.

"Do not mock me!" Emma laughed. Killian chuckled and threw his hands up in defence. "I did always fancy the idea of playing the piano, as proper ladies should, but perhaps that is a skill best left to others."

"I don't know, let us see," Killian shuffled on the little bench, making space for her and patting down next to him.

"You cannot be serious."

"Only one way to find out, Emma," He wiggled his eyebrows, eagerly awaiting the moment she decided to give in and sit down next to him. It took her a while, but he was a patient man–now, at least.

The bench was a little too small for the both of them, but there were worse things in the world, Emma thought.

"Let's hear it," He smiled widely.

"No," Emma protested. "I will not give you any more reason to laugh at me."

Killian chuckled, bringing his fingers to the keys and playing a gentle tune. "You did always seem more of an observe and learn sort of type," He noted as he closed his eyes and let the music guide him.

She tried looking at his hands, watching which keys he pressed to make which notes. But when he sat this near, his eyes closed, she could not help herself but look at his face instead. At his furrowed brow, his impossibly long lashes, his slightly parted lips, his sharp jaw line. She had watched him play before, intrigued at the way he could completely lose himself in the music.

He licked his lips before smiling widely. "Watch my hands, Emma. You won't learn much by looking at my face."

"On the contrary, I am learning quite a lot right now."

"Oh?" He asked and turned towards her, the music slowly fading out as he stopped playing. "And what have you learned?"

"I believe I will keep that information to myself," Emma answered as she looked at the piano in front of her. She could scarcely remember any of the keys he had pressed, let alone use both hands, but he let her play the (horribly sounding) notes and watched her with an amused smile.

Sometimes he would press some keys on his side of the piano, and she would imitate him on the higher notes, but far slower–and _far_ worse. But he remained patient, showing her over and over, placing her hands on the right keys, until she could play ten notes in a row without fail.

Emma laughed excitably and almost clapped her hands at her accomplishment. Killian merely grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with adoration.

"Would you like to go to bed?" He asked softly as her laughter quieted down. Emma almost shook her head, wishing this night would never end, until she realised what he truly meant. _His_ bed.

"Yes," She answered breathlessly.

He rose from the little bench, offering his hands to help her up. She took them gratefully, her legs suddenly seeming too unstable to support her getting up from her spot.

She walked the short distance to his room with her hand tightly holding on to his. But instead of confronting her about it, his thumb merely stroked soothingly across the back of her own.

Though he appeared calm, the way he lifted his hand to scratch behind his ear before opening the door to his room, betrayed he also felt nervous.

She'd been in his room so many times before, when she had to help him undress after a particularly rough night, or when she fetched him things when he didn't feel well. Or more recently, helping Mary Margaret with the linens. But it was different this time, even if much was exactly the same. His bed was neatly made, the fire was softly cracking, books laid in unstable piles on his desk.

She heard him lock the door behind them, and whilst she expected to completely panic at the sound of the lock falling into place, it gave her an odd sense of reassurance.

No one was going to interrupt them. It would just be them. In the safety of his room. And in the safety of each other.

As he came to stand next to her, she looked up at him with a small smile whilst her fingers twisted around each other.

"Hold on a moment, love," He muttered, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. She nodded, even if he was not looking, and stepped towards the window. She may have been in his room a fair amount of times, but Emma never truly noticed how Killian's room did not have the view of the pond in the back of the garden, as you had in the Grand Salon, or even the library. Instead, his room looked over the decaying pool house and in the back the trees that hid the stables from view. Emma knew that, hidden among those trees, Milah's grave stood. And if she were to ask, Killian could probably point at its exact location.

She sighed deeply, if her mind had not already been utterly worrying over how the night would go, it certainly had a talent for finding other, even less enjoyable topics to think of. She looked over her shoulder, seeing him open every drawer of his nightstand on a clear mission to find something. "What are you looking for?"

"Protection," He answered absentmindedly, continuing the rummaging through his drawers.

"Of wh–oh." Emma crossed her arms in front of her, looking back out the window. "Oh," She mumbled again, hugging herself tighter to keep her body from shaking. Why was she so nervous? Was this not exactly what she wanted? It was. It certainly was.

Somehow Emma always knew she would not make it to marriage without having shared the bed with a man first. It had been quite the surprise when she made it through her years in the orphanage untouched, and then her first household. It had given her hope that perhaps she might make it to marriage as an untouched woman, or at the very least have the man be a man of her own choosing.

And here she stood, with a man who _had_ given her every choice in the matter. Then, why was she so nervous?

Emma almost took a step away when she heard him approach her, but her feet appeared to be nailed to the ground.

"Everything all right?" Killian asked quietly, keeping the distance between them.

"Yes," She answered, far too quickly, but turned around nonetheless.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, almost nonchalantly, were it not for the frown that had settled on his face, knitting his eyebrows together. "We do not have to do this tonight. Or any night, if you have changed your mind."

"I want to," Emma promised as she stepped closer, reaching for his coat and tugging him towards her and pulling him into a kiss.

His arms shot up in surprise, but settled on her waist just as quickly. Though, returned her kiss for only the briefest moment before he pulled away. "Then, I am afraid I must disappoint you, for I fear I have no more protection–"

"Does it matter?" Emma asked, bringing her lips to his once more. She knew that if he would stop her now, she would lose all the courage she had spent all day building up.

"And you accuse _me_ of being relentless," He groaned softly, finally returning her kiss, his hands tugging her closer until she stood against his chest. His kiss had her head spinning quickly. "If at any point, you need me to stop, Emma, please tell me and I will."

"Against my better judgement, I would very much like you to continue. 'Tis simply, I don't know what to do," She admitted shyly.

"Luckily, I do." He smiled as his fingers traced over her collarbones, the swell of her breasts before moving to her back, his fingers toying with the buttons of her dress. Emma sighed deeply, whimpering softly at his touch. "Are you all right?" He asked and he pulled back to look at her.

"Nervous, is all," She whispered, trailing her fingers over his jaw line to distract herself.

He nodded once. "Do you wish for me to stop?"

"No," She spoke clearly. "Tell me what to do."

"You never listen anyway," He grinned, capturing her lips with his own. As he kissed her, she could feel him undo the buttons of her gown, until it hung loosely at her shoulders. Gently, he peeled it off, brushing his hands over her arms to let the fabric slide down. His carefulness nearly drove her to insanity, every touch set her body aflame, every kiss added to that fire.

The dress pooled at her ankles, leaving her in her shift, but he made no movement to rid her of that as well. Instead he made a point of having his lips touch each inch of her skin, they trailed kisses down her jaw, to her neck. He brushed the fabric off her shoulder, warm fingers touched her bare skin before he brought his lips to further the trail of kisses from her neck to her shoulder.

Growing slightly impatient, the heat that had built up between her legs growing more maddening with each passing moment, she moved her hands to untie the laces of her bodice with the intent of ridding herself of her shift without his help, but he took her hands away before she could get very far.

"Had I known you were this eager," He started with a low chuckle as he guided her to the bed and laid her down. "I would have invited you to my bedroom long ago," He whispered as he moved the fabric of her shift to kiss the swell of her breast. "It would seem improper to leave a lady waiting that long," He spoke against her skin.

"I believe neither of us is very good at articulating what they want," Emma answered with a small laugh.

Killian hummed in agreement, leaning up to kiss her briefly. "Well, I can say with absolute clarity what I want right now."

"Good," She said, undoing the buttons of his vest. It seemed odd to her, how she'd done this so many times before, but only now, she did it with shaking hands. Once she'd taken the vest off, and tossed it off the bed, her hands already and impatiently untying the chords of his shirt, she found him staring at her with a marvelling smile. "What?"

"You are beautiful, Emma," He said and shook his head ever so slightly. Emma thought he looked at her as though he had trouble comprehending that she was real. And she quite enjoyed being looked at like that.

There was a certain ease in taking off his shirt and trousers, even when her hand brushed against the hardness in his drawers–and a soft moan came from his lips–she did not stop until the trousers laid on the floor with his vest and shirt.

She could feel his hand on her thigh, disappearing underneath her shift, moving up until her stomach and leaving a trail of shivers in its wake. He smiled at her before moving down, placing a kiss just above her navel.

"Lord have mercy on me," She pleaded, looking up at the ceiling above.

Killian laughed softly, placing kisses on her stomach. "He can't help you, you are at my mercy now."

She found herself confused when she saw him position himself between her legs and buried his head between her thighs, but moans quickly replaced her confused utters. His scruff scraped deliciously against her legs as used his tongue and fingers to bring her to her high. Her books had certainly not prepared her for this.

He watched her with a wide grin as she found her breath again, arching a teasing eyebrow.

"Stop that," Emma laughed, laying her arms around his neck and drew him on top of her.

"Was that satisfactory, Milady?" He asked with a grin, his lips only barely touching hers in not quite a kiss.

"Stop teasing me, or I will leave this room."

"You are still allowed to change your mind, if you wish to go…" Once more his voice had been filled with that teasing tone, but there was a genuine offer as well. He would always give her the room to change her mind, at his own expense. Whilst she had previously only known him as a selfish man, she understood that it could not have been further from who he truly was. And even now, after they had lain in bed together, he would still allow her to walk out of this room, not a single objection made.

Emma simply chuckled and shook her head. "No, I am _quite_ content here."

They shared many more kisses after they'd rid each other of the remaining clothes, both making her comfortable with being naked around a man, feeling every inch of his body against her, as well as making her nervous with anticipation.

She loved the way he looked at her, adored the way he smiled between two kisses, relished the way he held her. She enjoyed the kisses, the soft-spoken words, the gentle caresses.

With Killian it was so easy to feel safe in this intensely intimate way. She expected to be scared, but everything he had done and said was to make her feel comfortable.

He asked her if she was ready, he asked her if she changed her mind. He gave her every choice in the matter. But she'd never been so sure of something in her life.

And so a soft moan tumbled over her lips the moment he buried himself inside her.

He let her get used to him for a moment before he moved again. He was kind and gentle, and didn't hurt her like she had prepared herself for. _Of course_ he didn't.

His kisses made her head spin.

His whispered words made her heart pound only faster in her chest.

His caresses had never been softer.

His smiles made her unreasonably happy.

He quickly brought her to her second high, following closely with his own, and laying his head down on her shoulder when he came undone with one final thrust, her name falling over his lips like a moan, and pressed a wet kiss against her skin.

She felt like cussing, her heart and mind were racing, her body suddenly feeling flimsy, though her hand still stroked through his hair at the nape of his neck, relishing in the closeness of their bodies.

"Are you well?" He asked with a quiet puff as he lied down next to her.

"Yes," Emma replied, her breathing becoming her own again. She watched his chest rise and fall slowly, his skin shimmering as the firelight fell onto it.

"I haven't hurt you?"

"No," She smiled. Emma laid down on her tummy, burying her head into his pillow and breathing in deeply. It smelled of the lavender soap Mary Margaret used to wash the linens, and him; a hint of his cologne and sweat.

"Good," Killian whispered, leaning over her to press a soft kiss against her shoulder blade, brushing his fingers over her back.

A comfortable silence washed over them like waves on a shore, leaving only tranquillity behind. He drew her into his arms then, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her.

Emma smiled, her eyes slowly falling closed as she lay in the safety and warmth of his arms, his lips sometimes placing soft kisses onto her shoulder.

She giggled quietly as he kissed her neck, his breath was warm against her skin as he laughed, and he quickly did it again.

"Twenty-sixth of January," He suddenly spoke after he'd been silent for a while, his voice low and raspy, and had it not been for his fingers tracing over her shoulder and down her arm, she'd thought he was close to falling asleep as well.

"What?" Emma mumbled quietly, lifting her chin so she could look at him.

"You asked me once, when my birthday was."

"That is what is going through your mind right now?" She chuckled. "A question I asked when I first came here?"

"No, I was thinking how I never imagined laying here with you. After all the awful things I said and done, and –"

"No," Emma interrupted him firmly, turning around in his arm so she could look him in the eye. "I do not wish to hear it. I know you think there is still penance to be done for it, but I promise you, you have more than made up for it."

His smile was an apologetic one. "You've said this before, but I fear it will take a while before I will truly understand this."

Emma smiled in return and placed a soft kiss onto his lips. "I am not going anywhere."

He nodded, drawing her closer against him, holding her tightly in his embrace.

"Are you falling asleep?" Killian whispered after a while, his breath warm against her cold skin.

Emma nodded with a heavy head. "I will go in a moment, I –"

"Don't," He spoke quickly, sounding far more awake than she was. "Don't go. Stay with me for tonight, let me make love to you in the morning."

* * *

She woke in the middle of the night, a soft yet frantic mumbling tore her from a dreamless sleep.

She opened her eyes to find Killian talking in his sleep, in the faint light of the fire behind her she saw little beads of sweat having formed on his forehead. His mumbling was accompanied by a frown and the trembling of his lips when he wasn't speaking.

Emma reached out for him, laying a gentle hand against his cheek. He quickly sighed into her touch and when he finally opened his eyes, she brushed her thumb over his cheek; a silent attempt to calm him down.

He remained quiet for a moment longer, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand.

"I am sorry I awoke you."

"It is quite all right," Emma whispered.

"Usually I only wake myself," He murmured, taking her hand from his cheek and placing a soft kiss against her palm. Her breath hitched as she curiously watched him; his eyes never leaving hers as he brushed his cold lips against her palm once more. Emma couldn't quite tell whether his dilated pupils can be blamed on the darkness or something else entirely. But the way he placed a feather light kiss on her wrist, and arched just a bit closer gave her a pretty good idea.

She understood why he did this, to distract himself–or her, from asking any questions–and it was certainly working, she realised.

"Do you have them a lot, still?"

He cast his eyes downward then but continued his trail of kisses on her arm.

"Killian."

His eyes flashed up at her, he must've seen it in her eyes, that she had no intention of letting him avoid this conversation, for he sighed deeply, his breath warm against her skin.

"I do," Killian answered. "But the subject of my dreams has changed overtime."

"How so?"

"Always the curious one." He smiled gently and reached out to brush his thumb over her bottom lip almost as though he wanted to kiss her simply to change the subject.

"I merely want to help," Emma offered. "Go on."

"Have you not tormented me enough yet?"

"'Tis not torment when I am trying to help, Killian."

"I know," He replied with a sigh and turned to lie on his back, his eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling high above them. Emma watched him carefully, uncertain whether he would be answering her or stay stubbornly silent. The firelight illuminated his profile, the flames casting light and shadows on his skin. "I dream of losing the people I care about. But unlike before, there is nothing I can do about it and I am more often than not left helpless."

"You won't lose Grace," Emma replied, reaching out to lay her hand on his chest; his heart firmly pounding underneath her fingertips.

"It is not only Grace I care for," He mumbled, his stare remaining anchored to the ceiling. It was not very difficult to figure out who else he meant, even if he would not say it out loud. She sighed deeply and buried her nose in his neck. As she closed her eyes, she could feel his lips pressing a soft kiss against her forehead.

"I just know, that you are doing everything you can, if they leave none of it is your fault."

"Yes, but the thought of being left alone again is a scary one," Killian replied.

"I know," Emma said, and then smiled. "But you are not alone right now."

"No," He answered, pushing her away just the smallest bit so he could arch over her. "You are correct in that." His lips brushed carefully across hers as though he was not certain whether she wanted to be kissed at all. Which was quite a funny notion to her, for if she could do one thing for the rest of her life, it would be kissing Killian Jones.

She smiled before pressing herself into him and captured his lips with her own, pulling him closer for a long kiss. She felt his knee between her legs, his hand slipping down her waist to push her thighs apart–she easily let him.

She gasped softly as he sank into her and met him with each lazy thrust.

He kissed her neck softly, careful as to not leave any indecent marks.

And then he brought his kiss-swollen lips back to hers.

Time seemed to move slowly in that moment, like each second lasted for five seconds instead.

Tick.

A thrust, a soft gasp.

Tick.

A kiss, a trembling sigh.

Tick.

A smile, a loving whisper.

The way he looked at her when he paused a moment–their bodies touching from their legs to their chests, to their hands with their fingers intertwined–made her heart beat frantically. It scared her in a way, but it was exciting all the same.

They shared soft kisses, quiet moans, loving smiles.

And he buried his head in her neck after they'd reached their high together.

He fell asleep once more not long after that, and Emma quietly slipped out of the bed. She knew he would have liked it if she were there when he woke up, but she also knew there was no way she could explain to Ruby why she was not in her room, or what she would have to say if anyone saw her slip out of Killian's room in the morning.

She reasoned it would simply be easier for everyone if she were to wake up in her own room.

 _Alone_.

She also reasoned it would be one less thing to feel guilty about. Because whilst spending the night with him had been utmost incredible to say the least.

He was not her husband, and until he gave her indication he had plans to change that, these activities should not occur again.

* * *

 _AN: Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I really wanted to post on my birthday, like I did last year. Because this, too, is one of my favourites, for obvious reasons._

 _So here I am, on my birthday, presenting you this extra long chapter as a gift to you._

 _Thank you guys for being here for me, even if I don't know how to stick to a regular updating schedule, or when I made you wait sixteen chapters for a kiss, ha!_

 _I'm so grateful for the response this fic has gotten, the kind comments I've received, and the friendships made over this fic!_

 _Thank you, thank you, thank you (hearts)_


	20. Twenty

_Late September, 1816._

He found her walking the hallways the following morning, as she was on her way to wake up Grace, his hand hooking around her arm and tugging her into a dark corner of the hallway.

For a moment Emma thought he was angry at her for leaving him the way she did, but when she met his eyes, he still wore that same, soft expression with which he always looked at her. Though there was something else in his eyes as well, something he tried so hard to hide from her. Confusion? Hurt, maybe?

"You were gone," He started quietly, frowning at himself as though he was uncertain of how to continue, or even what his question was.

"Yes," Emma whispered, finding herself unable to look him in the eye for too long and looking away to where his hand still held on to her arm with the gentlest of grips, slowly trailing down until he held her hand in his. "I apologise –"

"Don't," He interrupted her quickly, his hand squeezing hers softly. "Never apologise. I told you this was entirely your choice. I simply wished to know whether you were all right. I have not hurt you, have I?"

"No, you have not," Emma promised. She found herself torn between wishing for him to let go of her, and never let go at the same time. "I simply... I grew scared. It was incredible, but such activities should have been reserved for my husband."

Killian nodded once. "I understand."

 _I don't think you do._

"If someone found out that I have done this, before marriage, I would be..." She trailed off.

"Emma, I won't tell anyone, if that–"

"I know," She whispered, averting her eyes once more to her hand in his and wishing she could find shelter in his arms once more. But she made a choice and began to understand the repercussions that came with that choice. "I am glad it was someone gentle, though."

He smiled and nodded at her, reaching out to her cheek but deciding against it at the last moment. "I simply wanted to be certain that I have not hurt you."

"You have not," Emma confirmed as she pulled her hand away from him. "Please excuse me, I must…"

"Of course." Killian smiled once more in a way that did not quite reach his eyes, taking a step aside to let her pass.

Walking away from him was entirely the hardest part of their conversation. She could bear her own hurt, she could scarcely bear his, but to walk away from him, and thus sealing her choice, it was simply _too much_.

Quickly, before entering Grace's room, she wiped away her tears. If Grace noticed at all, she chose not to mention it, but if her obedience without objection and kind affection were any indication, Grace knew something was wrong. Of course, she knew, she was clever enough to realise but also clever enough to not ask questions.

Ruby was a different matter entirely, once Grace had been sent to ballet practice, and Emma found herself alone in the kitchen with her, Ruby suddenly dropped everything, plopped Emma down on the chair across her and made her talk.

Any servant entering the kitchen was promptly sent away so that Emma could quietly confess what troubled her so.

"It is Killian, is it not?" Ruby started when Emma found it difficult to begin.

"Yes," Emma admitted, tracing her finger over the wood texture of the table.

"What has he done?"

"It is more what _I_ have done…" Emma took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as though it would clear her mind and ease her of her troubles, but she was not that lucky. "I walked away from him."

Ruby nodded. "Why?"

"Because I am scared? I was willing to lay with him; a man who is not my husband and who is very unlikely to ever be my husband."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Sleep with him?" Ruby explained herself calmly. She was not looking for gossip, she was looking to understand Emma's situation. And even if she knew Ruby could keep a secret, Emma shook her head. She didn't feel shame, she simply wanted to keep that intimate information to herself. "All right. Have you spoken with him yet?"

"I have," Emma whispered. "He seems hurt."

"Are you surprised? It is quite obvious he is more than a little besotted with you."

"Not enough to offer me a proposal," Emma objected.

"Have you _asked_ him?"

Emma barked out a laugh at that, hiding her smile behind her hand at her sudden outburst. "Surely you cannot be serious?"

"Will you not consider the matter from his perspective? It is the first time in seven years that he has opened his heart up, and now he is willing to give it to you, his servant." Emma pulled a face at that, and judging by Ruby's smile, it did not go unnoticed. "I understand it is not what you wish to hear, but we cannot hide what we are. It is the truth. We know that, he knows that, society knows that. And whilst he may say he does not care for society, it is still a long way from treating your servants with kindness to offering a servant a proposal. Perhaps he is considering whether he loves you enough to not care about the scandal it will create. Personally I think he does, but the both of you simply need to stop being so scared."

"That is a lot easier said than it is done," Emma muttered.

"You think I do not know that?" Ruby grinned, reaching over the table for Emma's hand. "I choose to believe that it will work itself out in the end. Is your mind eased a bit?"

Emma smiled. "It is."

"Good," Ruby said. "Now out of my kitchen, I have a dinner to prepare. Oh, and I believe it will rain later, so bring an umbrella when you go to fetch Grace."

* * *

Emma looked up at the sky worriedly as the first drops of rain started to fall. With her mind otherwise occupied, she'd completely forgotten that Ruby had warned her for the rain. And so she now stood, without an umbrella, waiting outside the building where Grace practised ballet. Tugging her shawl a little closer around herself, sighing deeply. Any hope that the rain would hold off a bit longer, was cast away when in the distance the heavens cracked open with loud thunder.

"Miss Emma?" Emma turned around, standing face to face with Mr William Avery. Though she had to admit, she had not recognised him at first, how could she, when she had barely seen the man once. But there was something in his features that reminded her, as though she stood face to face with a bad memory.

Emma made a polite curtsy. "Milord."

He tipped his hat at her, smiling kindly as he did, and Emma had to remind herself of the things he'd said about her the first time she'd met him. "I apologise I was not able to make it last night."

"It is quite all right, Milord," Emma spoke, a faint smile forming on her lips.

"Nevertheless," He started, looking up at the sky as the raindrops started to increase. He opened the umbrella he carried and took as step closer to shield both Emma and himself from the increasing rain. Emma hated to admit, but the gesture was nothing short of gentlemanly, _even_ if he stood just a little _too_ close now. "Allow me to make it up to you, perhaps you might join me for dinner one day?"

"Oh," Emma said, startled. "I– uh…"

"This Saturday perhaps?" Mr Avery continued when Emma could not find the words to speak.

"I would have to ask Mr Jones," She said quietly, looking over her shoulder to see Grace among the other girls exiting the building. Grace shielded herself from the rain underneath her bag, but happily skipped towards them nonetheless, it was nothing new to see Grace with her never ending supply of energy.

"I am certain he will let you, if you would ask. Send me a letter if you cannot get Saturday off, I will speak to him for you," Mr Avery spoke, greeting Grace with a smile. Grace took a polite curtsy in return.

"I do not see Thomas anywhere, Emma," Grace squinted her eyes as she looked through the crowd. Parents and their children hastily ran towards their own carriages.

"I'm afraid I walked here, perhaps if we walk fast, the rain will not harm us as much."

"Please, allow me to bring you home," Mr Avery spoke, gesturing at his carriage. Emma knew better than to hold on to her pride, certainly when Grace's health depended on it, and thus she accepted his offer.

In the carriage, he sat across from her, with Grace seated next to her. They resorted to small talk, though it was not entirely unpleasant. And when Grace started speaking of the things she'd learned at ballet, Mr Avery engaged in conversation with her. It surprised Emma how much he knew of ballet when after a year Emma still only knew a few terms and their meaning. Of course, with Eleanor having been a dancer for much longer, it should not have been _that_ surprising.

Once arrived at the mansion, he escorted the girls back inside underneath his umbrella, making sure they entered the house safe and untouched by the rain.

Before he left, he urged Emma to consider his request, saying he hoped to see her on Saturday.

* * *

The days passed slowly, now that she did not look forward to each longing gaze and each lingering touch. Though he did not actively avoid her, he kept a proper distance between them. _It is your choice, it is always your choice._ And Emma chose to keep whatever virtue she may have left to herself, and save it for her husband, if she ever found one.

And Saturday came around quicker than expected. Even if she'd sent Mr Avery a letter saying Mr Jones had not given her the day off–not that she'd asked–and Mr Avery sent a reply telling her that it was a terrible shame, though if Mr Jones changed his mind, she was always welcome, Emma somewhat expected Mr Avery to have contacted Mr Jones himself.

Sitting with Grace and Maple in the garden, Emma found her mind more often than not drifting to the possibilities of what could have occurred if she'd accepted Mr Avery's dinner invitation.

And not all of them were bad.

Being unable to focus on her book anyway, Emma had left Grace in the garden, where she attempted to teach Maple some commands as per her father's request, and went to fetch some refreshments. She'd nearly dropped the entire plateau to the floor when the door was knocked just as she walked past it. Emma set the plateau down on the drawer, and opened the heavy door.

In front of her stood a young woman, she couldn't have been much older than her. Her eyes had the colour of chocolate, she recalled a time when Killian brought a little piece of it with him from one of his travels, her dark eyes stood out against her fair skin, her hair was a bit lighter than her eyes. And she was tall, much taller than Emma was.

"I am looking for Mr Jones," The woman spoke as Emma remained silent. Her voice was kind and warm, she spoke like an educated woman, her words very pronounced. Emma found herself straightening her back and lifting her chin so that she wouldn't seem as small and insignificant compared to her. "Is he home?"

"Yes," Emma spoke, wishing her voice had sounded more confident, before stepping aside to allow the woman to walk in. "I shall fetch him for you, would you like to wait in the Salon?"

"Yes, thank you."

Emma opened the doors and gestured for her to enter. "Who shall I say is awaiting him?"

"Caroline Edwards," She replied, taking a seat in the chaise before the fire with her hands folded neatly on her lap.

Emma's own hands shook as she left the beautiful brunette in the Petit Salon and made way for Killian's office. She knocked the door softly, for some reason hoping he was not there. But he was, and he called her in with a curt response.

He stood by his office window, the setting sun shining brightly behind him.

"A Miss Caroline Edwards is waiting for you in the Petit Salon," Emma announced, hoping her voice did not sound as resentful as she felt. But she could not help it. Here he stood, his hair neatly combed, his chin clean shaven, the scent of a manly Eau de Cologne filling his little personal library. It had scarcely been a week, and already he was meeting other women.

Of course, Emma understood it had been her own choice to step away from him, but she felt the hurt that it took only a week before he'd forgotten all about her. Had she mattered so little to him?

He looked up briefly before turning his attention back to his cravat. "Right," He muttered, fumbling with his cravat before throwing his hands up in frustration and sighing deeply.

Emma walked over towards him, brushing his hands away so she could tie his cravat for him. She could feel his eyes on her, glancing at him showed he'd not noticed that she'd taken a little longer than was needed in tying the fabric around his neck.

"Who is she?" Emma asked quietly as she smoothed the fabric of his vest, inspecting the work she'd done for flaws–but admittedly, also to keep her hands on his chest for a bit longer. She understood the choice she made, even though she'd somehow hoped he would have understood her meaning, and offered her his hand in marriage. She knew it was not as easy as to simply tell him her desires, she had no idea what she was allowed to expect of him, or if she was even allowed to expect _anything_ of him at all.

But standing so closely before him, her hands lingering on his chest, she dearly wished he would kiss her, still.

"William introduced us," Killian answered. "He said I might like her–"

"Oh –" He laid his hand over hers before she could walk away, making her look up to him again.

"Emma, no, it's not like that. I am merely having dinner with her."

"It is none of my business, Milord."

She could tell she'd hurt him by calling him that: his face fell, his grip on her arm loosened enough for her to pull her arm away. "Emma –"

"It is quite all right, I should not have pried," She crossed her arms in front of her, finding comfort in the way it shielded her from him, the way it held her together when truthfully she was falling apart. She took a deep breath before speaking up again, not wanting to show how much it affected her. "I understand it is short notice, but I wondered if perhaps I might have a free evening tonight? Just for this week, I will remain at the estate on Tuesday," She quickly adds.

He nodded, the barely-there-smile on his lips seemed forced. "Of course. Anything you need. You may have both days if you want."

"No, it is fine."

"Um," He scraped his throat, swallowing thickly, "Just make sure you let Ruby know, I am certain she won't mind."

"Thank you. Miss Edwards is waiting for you in the Petit Salon, enjoy your evening." Emma curtsied and left his office before he could speak again, making her way towards her room. On her way there she found only Mary Margaret, whom happily went on a search for Ruby in Emma's stead.

And so Emma sat alone in her room, making a quick effort to put her hair up, and applying some blush to her cheeks, before changing her dress into something a little more appropriate for dinner.

"Mary Margaret said you were looking for me," Ruby said as she entered Emma's bedroom just as she was tying up the pink ribbon around her waist. "Are you going somewhere?"

"A man has requested I join him for dinner," Emma answered, picking up her cloak from the hanger by the door. "I have already asked Mr Jones and he has given me permission to leave, I merely needed to inform you. Mary Margaret is with Grace now."

"Is this about the woman– Emma, please, don't think anything of it. He is simply too polite to turn her down."

Emma shook her head, tying her cloak around her neck. "It is all good, Ruby, it does not matter."

"Your _heart_ matters."

"My _heart_ will get past this," Emma countered stubbornly, and for a moment, she believed herself. "I will see you tonight."

* * *

"I get the sense that you do not like me very much, Milady," Mr Avery offered his hand to help her in his carriage. "Would you care to elaborate on what it is I did or said wrong?"

Emma stared at him as he sat down across her, her lips slightly parted as his question caught her off guard. But perhaps now was the chance to ask him the question that had plagued her all night, for he'd been a perfect gentleman all evening. He complimented her, he treated her as a proper Lady, he spoke lovingly of his daughter, treated his servants with respect. And it had become surprisingly easy to convince herself that he'd simply used a poor choice of words that first day they met.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Emma asked carefully.

"I do," Mr Avery replied and took off his gloves, neatly laying them on the seat next to him.

"I overheard a conversation between you and Mr Jones," She admitted, toying with the string of her cloak.

"I see, will you allow me to explain myself?"

"Have I a choice in the matter?"

Mr Avery chuckled, shaking his head just slightly. "Of course, but I would very much like to explain myself."

"Very well."

"I admit I said things I probably should not have said about you, all I wished to know was whether Killian had any feelings at all for you, he requires a bit of persuasion to tell someone how he feels. I regret the manner I used to persuade him."

Emma frowned. "Why would you wish to know his feelings, whether existent or not?"

"I am certain you have heard that I am in search of a new wife, and I must confess, from the moment I met you, I had my sights set on you. Of course, I am not in the business to steal another man's Lady. Hence why I inquired about his feelings, if not a bit regrettably."

"Oh," Emma mumbled. "Oh…"

Mr Avery smiled brightly. "I suspect I have taken you off guard."

"A little bit, yes," Emma answered as the carriage pulled to a halt in front of her home. Through the curtains she saw people still walking around in the kitchen. And on the other side of the estate, a single candle burnt in Killian's office. "I do not know what to say," She mumbled, keeping her gaze on the mansion before his coachman opened the door for her. "Thank you, for dinner, it was quite pleasant."

Truthfully, she hadn't known why she expected to make it inside the mansion without having to speak another word to him, but his voice called her back before she even made it to the stairs.

"Marry me."

Emma turned around, he stood a few feet away from her, a look of expectancy on his face. "Excuse me?"

"Become my wife," He clarified, as though the words 'marry me' were foreign and held no meaning to her.

"I am honoured, Milord," Emma spoke clearly. "But, respectfully I will have to decline."

He scoffed and shook his head. "If you are waiting for Killian, you are wasting your time, darling."

Now it was Emma's time to scoff. "I am not waiting for him."

"Then why refuse? I would offer you things far above your station; wealth, lands, a title. I could give you a family. You would never have to work a day in your life."

"I do not mind my work with Grace, Sir."

"You realise that there are not many Lords who would offer a marriage proposal to a servant, yes?"

Emma laughed quietly, shaking her head. "I do."

"Then why decline, would you rather not live a wealthy life?"

"That's not it, Sir," Emma objected. Of course, every servant dreamt of one day escaping this life, but she wouldn't necessarily say she was poor, finding a home in Killian's household has left her richer than she'd ever been. Friends, a family. She was never hungry and well-taken care of. She was properly happy most of the time, until she gave it up.

"Then, what are you waiting for? No," Mr Avery frowned, looking at her as though he could read every thought in her head. "The question is, _who_ are you waiting for, is it not? _Killian_? You may say you are not waiting for him, but Emma, I would advise you to consider your answer carefully, Killian is still in search for a wife. You are coming of age, soon no one will have you…"

"Respectfully," Emma spat, suddenly filled with anger. "I would rather die a lone spinster than become your wife."

Mr Avery grinned, if he was offended at all he did not show it. "My darling, please reconsider your answer. A better proposal than mine is not very likely to offer itself up, and you may say you'd rather be alone, but I can see it in your eyes: you long for a family. I can give that to you, you need only accept my hand." His voice had grown soft almost as though he was soothing a wild animal before he would trap and kill it. He stepped towards her with calm confidence and Emma let out a quiet breath as he took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. "At least think about it." She hated the man for seeing right through her, but she hated herself more for even considering accepting his proposal–even just a little bit.

* * *

Emma stood by the window of the kitchen, her fingers making a fist, crumpling up her apron. Tears had formed in her eyes but she refused to let them spill and thus stared firmly out of the window. Her jaw clenched until it hurt, the lack of sleep made her head even heavier.

"Emma?" She barely registered her name. Whose voice was that? It was not Grace's, she was at ballet. Not Ruby's nor Mary Margaret's. Was it a man? Yes. Whose? David's? No, it was probably Killian's. With her luck, it would be him. "Emma?" He tried again, his voice soft: gently breaking her from her haze. She couldn't look at him, tears would inevitably flow if she did, and she refused to be weak. Certainly not in front of him.

"What?" She swallowed thickly, her voice had been harsher than she intended.

Killian didn't seem taken aback by her bitterness, instead, he even moved closer. "Is everything all right?"

"Does it look like everything is all right?" She spat, finally looking at him. Rather than seeing anger for her response like she hoped, she found his features had coloured a shade of worry. It would be so much easier to say goodbye–or to be sent away–if he was furious with her, but he showed compassion instead.

"Come," He said gently, extending his hand. She dismissed his gesture but indicated she would follow him.

She followed him to the petite salon; it was warm, the fire crackled like it had been lit for a while.

Emma did not sit down, she watched him as he moved around her, closing the doors and facing her. "What is troubling you?"

Emma pursed her lips, widening her eyes to keep her tears from spilling over her cheeks.

"I received a marriage proposal," She said bluntly, then shrugged once and laughed as the tears finally flowed. "It is a good one. He is rich, I would not have to worry about a day in my life. And he wishes to start a family with me."

"But?" Killian arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"But?" Emma repeated, desperately trying to wipe away her tears. All efforts were in vain, they kept coming. Why was she crying? Was a marriage proposal not exactly what she wanted? Was a marriage proposal not what was supposed to make a woman complete? It was. But it wasn't Mr Avery's proposal she craved.

"What is stopping you from accepting?" Emma hated how calm he sounded, his questions were asked with composure. Why was he not angry, or jealous? Did he truly not love her at all? Did she truly matter so little to him?

"What's stopping me?" Emma chuckled painfully, her voice had risen a few octaves and she hated herself for all of it; for crying, for sounding weak and hurt. It took her two deep breaths to steady herself, when she spoke her next words she sounded broken, still, but a lot calmer. "How can I love this man when my heart will be left elsewhere?"

"If he is capable of love, eventually your heart will heal," He spoke, easily wiping that argument off the table. "Anything else?"

"Grace..."

"Do not worry about her. We will find another –"

Emma scoffed, her heart aching. "Am I _that_ easily replaceable? Do you wish me gone?

"No," He laughed, scratching behind his ear. "A poor choice of words on my part. I do not wish you gone at all. But you are one of the most selfless persons I know. A choice as important as this one should be made because of what you want, not because of what other people want. I promise you, to fill your shoes would be a nearly impossible task for anyone. Grace adores you; she _loves_ you. You work well with the other servants. You deliver great work –"

"And what about you, Killian?" She interrupted him.

"I don't..." He trailed off. He had no answer ready. Not one that he was willing to give at least.

"Of course," Emma breathed out a sigh, nodding her lips pursed, looking anywhere but at him. "No... That is..." The silence caused by her loss of words was filled with the sound of the little clock by the fire, announcing four o' clock.

"I must go get Grace."

"I can do it," He offered.

"No. I will do it." Emma said firmly. "It would seem I have to tell her I am leaving."

* * *

"Are you all right?" Grace questioned as they strolled through the little park. Unlike other times, Grace had remained quiet about the things she'd learned in her lesson, and Emma knew she was the one to blame. "You have been awfully quiet since last week. I did not wish to pry, but…"

Emma shook her head, sitting down on a bench by the lake, waiting for Grace to sit next to her. "I love you, Gracie, you know that right?"

"Emma, you are scaring me."

"I'm sorry."

A silence fell and it appeared to be enough for Grace to figure it out. It was no surprise. She was a clever girl. "You are leaving are you not?" Grace's voice broke mid–sentence, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Please do not cry," Emma pleaded as Grace wrapped her arms firmly around Emma's neck, her bag falling down onto the ground in the process.

"Do not leave me, Emma, please. You _promised_ you would never leave me."

"I'm sorry, Gracie."

"But I love you," Grace sobbed.

"And I you," Emma promised, rubbing her hand over Grace's back in an attempt to soothe her.

"What of father?" Grace pushed her away, suddenly angry. "Is he just letting you go like that?"

"He is."

"No, that's wrong!"

"Oh Grace," Emma sighed her chest aching with bottled up tears, "One day when you've grown up, you will understand... Marriage proposals, they do not come easily for someone of my station. When a good one comes up, you need to take it."

"Take me home, Emma, please." Her plea was one of mixed anger and sadness, her tears still rolling over her rosy cheeks.

The short distance they still had to travel was spent mostly in silence. The occasional sob that escaped Grace tugged at Emma's heart, making the fight against her own tears a heavy one.

It was not an easy choice to be made, there were many arguments of why she shouldn't accept Mr Avery's proposal, Emma knew that. But she also knew that a person could grow to love another person, she also knew that Mr Avery had been correct; in a month she would be twenty-five, receiving another marriage proposal was highly unlikely, let alone one that gave her a way out of her life as a servant.

But to Grace it was all so simple; her father loved Emma, and Emma loved her father. Why should they not be married?

Emma couldn't say she ever had foolish and childish notions like that, having been faced with poverty and hunger at a young age, not everyone had three meals a day and a warm bed to sleep in, but she remembered a time when she wished so desperately for a man to sweep her off her feet, whom she loved and loved her in return.

"I wish to speak with father alone," Grace said firmly as soon as they entered the mansion, walking immediately towards Killian's office.

From the moment she watched Grace enter the room, Emma could hear them yelling at each other. She'd barely ever heard either of them yell so angrily, let alone at each other.

Being the reason they were yelling at each other, Emma considered that going inside was not the best idea she ever had, but once in his office, they didn't even notice her.

"You love her!" Grace countered the prior argument. "Why are you letting her go just like that?"

"Leave," Killian said promptly, suddenly no longer yelling, but still filled with anger.

"You _know_ I speak the truth, you –"

"Go to your room, Grace."

Grace sighed, defeated, and turned around to see Emma. It is then that Killian noticed her too, he looked tired and lost, and every bit as miserable as Emma felt.

"I thought I could change his mind," She whispered quietly, wiping her hands over her face to wipe away the tears.

"I know, Gracie, it is all right."

"Do not go, Emma, please," Grace pleaded softly, grabbing fistfuls of Emma's gown into her hands as though that would stop her from going anywhere. "Father loves you, he is just too afraid to say it."

"Grace," Killian warned sternly.

"You are only getting angry because it is true!" Grace protested, crossing her arms.

"I thought I told you to go to your room."

"But –"

"Grace!" Killian raised his voice then.

Grace nodded, her face easily falling into the angriest expression Emma had ever seen her wear. For a moment Emma expected Grace to yell at her father, walking away, and throwing the door shut.

But the way she spoke instead, broke Emma more than anything.

"Just so you are aware," Grace started quietly, though the anger was so audible in her voice. "I will _never_ forgive you for this." Killian could barely even look at his daughter, had she thrown a fit, somehow that would have been more bearable than this. "You _will_ come say goodbye, won't you?" She looked up at Emma.

"I will."

Grace only nodded at that, quietly walking out of the room, the door–even if it was not slammed–sounded so very loud in the unbearable silence.

He looked at her from his spot across the room, standing in the safety behind his desk where neither Grace nor Emma could reach him, before quietly speaking up. "Are you leaving already?"

"I imagine it would be best if I do, yes," Emma answered, knowing full well that if she chose to stay a little longer, it would make leaving all the more difficult. Or perhaps it would give her mind the time it needed to come up with reasons why she should not leave.

"You have made your choice, then?"

"If Grace is correct, and you do love me…" She trailed off quietly, before letting out a stuttered sigh, finding herself unable to finish the sentence.

" _If_ Grace is correct, and I do love you, it means I am letting go because I wish for nothing more than your happiness."

Emma nodded, quietly turning around.

 _He loves you, Emma_. Her mind tried to tell her this over and over again as she walked away from him for the second time. _You can see it in his eyes. Why are you walking away?_

 _I'm scared._

* * *

 **AN: Oooh dear, I'm sorry about the very long wait for this chapter, as you can imagine I found it a bit difficult to write, and I considered having it end differently, but I promise the ache will be soothed in the next chapters ;)**

 **Further, I do have a few notes;**

 **First and foremost, thank you so much for all the birthday wishes and kind words.**

 **Also, LKaOUT has reached 1000 kudos on AO3 on my birthday, which was an absolutely insane birthday present, thank you so, so much.**

 **As well as a huge thank you to Irene for creating incredibly gorgeous manips for this story, I'm still hearteyes about it!**

 **Last, my mother has been pushing me to contact a publisher for this fic, which is–after a lot of persuasion–what I did. I have yet to hear what they think of it, but they told me the beginning looks promising. What this means for the fic, I have no idea, but I will definitely keep you guys posted. The way I see it, LKaOUT will either be finished online, or on paper. But I am a bit of a pessimist, so I wouldn't worry too much, I have every intention to give you guys a proper ending to this story. I love it so much, and I do enjoy writing it, so it would be a shame to simply let that sit.**

 **Again, thank you so much, for all the lovely comments, for showing me such kindness, and for sticking with me even when I take a while to update.**


	21. Twenty-one

_December 3rd, 1816._

 _Birthday Celebration._

 _Miss Emma Swan is requested to attend at Winslow Manor, on Tuesday, 3rd of December current, at 5 o'clock P.M._

 _Signed Jones K._

* * *

The mansion felt surprisingly familiar as she stepped out of the carriage, Elsa following closely. She knew it had only been two months since she last saw it, but it suddenly felt much longer. The ivy climbing up the walls is buried under a small layer of snow, and Emma always found that the mansion looked most beautiful on snowy days.

Large candles stood on the balustrade and on the ground, making a path from where the carriage had pulled to a stop to the large double doors of the mansion.

"Are you well?" Elsa asked behind her, reaching for Emma's hand when she did not move.

"Yes, I simply did not expect to be back so soon," Emma admitted. _Or for it to still feel like home_.

"Are you ready to go inside?"

"Yes," Emma said, stepping on the familiar steps that led to the doors. It was pleasantly warm inside, as it always had been. But there was something different about the mansion. It seemed more appropriate to receive guests, more candles had been added to make the rooms brighter, and with more people filling the halls, it seemed as though the mansion had finally found its purpose: entertaining guests.

For once, the mansion did not seem so eerily quiet.

A servant that she did not recognise stood with August by the door, accepting coats and cloaks. When he met Emma's eye he smiled at her, nodding his head at her in a way that recognised her as a friend, but also a superior, and Emma curtsied in return before giving him her cloak.

A large ribbon had been tied across the giant curving staircase that she knew so well, so that guests would not go upstairs. Instead, the candles guided the path to the area she knew as the servant's area.

She stopped in her tracks as she noticed Grace and Killian by the door, side by side, greeting guests. Grace appeared oddly composed, quietly accepting the gifts the guests had brought her, and whilst her smile towards the other guests was genuine, it was nothing compared to the wide smile that she has when she notices Emma. After quickly excusing herself from the people she was talking to, she ran towards Emma, crashing into her with such a force that Emma had to take a step back.

"I have missed you so much!" Grace sighed deeply as Emma knelt down to pull her into a hug.

"I have missed you too, Gracie."

"Emma, I am eight now, you should not call me Gracie anymore."

"Oh… Well, then I apologise, _Grace_." Emma chuckled, standing back up to gesture at Elsa. "I hope you do not mind, but I brought a friend."

"Not at all." Grace smiled, making a polite curtsy when Emma introduced them. "Will you come say hello to Maple?"

"I should probably say something to your father first."

"Oh…" She frowned. "Right."

Emma laughed softly. "Are you still angry with him?"

"Yes," Grace answered, reaching for her hand to drag her along to where her father stood. "I am."

"Lord Jones," Emma curtsied as she stood before him.

"Lady Swan." He greeted her with the nod of his head. Though he kept his distance, his greeting was far from cold. His lips curved into a smile the moment he laid eyes on her, his expression softening in a way that made her stomach turn, though not in the way she'd grown used to. Emma was scarcely given the time to study his features, let alone introduce Elsa to Killian before Grace already tugged her along to the kitchen.

"Emma!" Ruby shrieked enthusiastically upon entering the kitchen. "Oh, I missed you so, so much!" She said as she pulled Emma into a long and tight hug.

"And I you," Emma said, turning to gesture at Elsa. "My friend Lady Elsa, I hope you do not mind her in your kitchen for the moment, Grace wished for me to see Maple."

"Of course not," Ruby said, giving a polite curtsy. "Maple is downstairs," She informed Grace.

"Downstairs?" Emma inquired as she watched Grace disappear into the hallway.

"You may have noticed things have changed," Ruby said as she returned to chopping up vegetables. "With Killian hiring new staff, there were not enough rooms anyway. Since David and Mary Margaret had already started sleeping downstairs, most of us sort of followed again."

"You make it sound as though I've been gone for years," Emma muttered, looking at the food nicely presented on plates. She'd been hungry since she left the Avery estate, and the bites and appetisers in front of her certainly weren't helping.

Ruby swatted her hand away as Emma reached to take one of the bites from the plateau. "No," She scolded, "For the guests."

"I _am_ a guest," Emma countered with a pout, but Ruby did not budge, and to further tease her Ruby offered a bite to Elsa instead.

Elsa accepted it with a wide grin. "Thank you."

A quiet creak of the door pulled Emma's attention away from the food in front of her and to Grace and Maple. The puppy–who'd grown quite a bit already–excitedly waggled its entire body on the way to Emma, clearly recognising her.

"Hello Maple." Emma smiled and knelt down to pet her.

"Oh my goodness, she is quite adorable," Elsa said, letting the puppy sniff her hand. Maple was visibly enjoying all the attention that was suddenly given to her, and as Ruby sent them out of the kitchen a moment later, it easily followed them out into the hallway.

Grace must have spent a lot of time with her dog for it obeyed the command to remain by her side as they walked, and sat down when it was told to once they reached the ballroom.

As they stood on the side of the room, Grace quietly introduced the people inside to Emma and Elsa. Though admittedly, she hadn't a clue as to who many of the people were. Not that she minded, of course, when all of them had brought presents.

Emma watched around the room, noticing many women toying with their fans–reminding Emma that she carried one too, and as a proper lady, she ought to use it–she barely remembered what most of the signs meant, but she did notice one Lady wishing to be rid of the man currently talking to her.

There were also a lot of children from her ballet class, and after standing with Elsa and Emma for a while, Grace excused herself to join them in their dancing.

"I confess, when you said she was excitable, I did not realise you meant _this_ ," Elsa said as Grace was out of earshot.

"I miss it," Emma admitted softly, watching the guests dance, their cheeks red, their smiles wide. "I miss her, and I miss–"

"Lady Swan?" Killian asked as he came to stand before her. "I wondered if perhaps you might do me the honour of granting me a dance?"

"Yes," Emma answered without even considering it. He smiled briefly before nodding his head and turning away again. Emma slowly exhaled as she watched him leave, only then realising what he had just asked her.

"Well," Elsa started quietly.

"I know," Emma filled in before her friend could continue. "I should have addressed him properly, considered my answer more carefully, and so on."

Her friend grinned before leaning closer. "Normally I would agree, but I simply meant to say: it is quite obvious he still harbours feelings for you, and that it is still not too late to change your mind."

"You have scarcely even met him," Emma scoffed, amusedly shaking her head. "How can you possibly tell?"

"Well, besides drawing conclusions from all that you have told me about him, he has been sneaking glances all evening. And again just now." Elsa smiled just past Emma, in the direction where Killian had gone. "And again… And again."

Emma could not help but take a peek as well, meeting his eyes just as he looked at her. Even if she wanted to, she could not stop the smile from spreading across her lips, it happened involuntarily. But he gladly returned the smile.

Quickly, she turned her head lest the blush on her cheeks became visible all the way across the room.

"It would seem the next dance is starting soon," Elsa announced innocently, giving Emma a little nudge with her elbow. "Please do not make your partner wait, it would be terribly inconsiderate."

Emma handed her fan to Elsa with shaking hands, brushing them over her gown as though to smooth out the fabric that was already smooth. "I have danced with him before, there is no reason to be nervous suddenly." She muttered, more so to herself. Elsa laughed softly and nudged her once more when Killian walked in their direction once more.

She enjoyed the familiar feeling of her hand in his, and the all too well-known tingle that came with it.

He found a space for them between the other dancing couples, reluctantly letting go of her hand even if they would be touching again in just a moment. As he stood in place across from her, a generous and proper space between them, Emma dearly wished they could be waltzing instead.

"Your husband is not here?" Killian asked as soon as the dance started.

"He is not my husband," Emma answered, holding her hand against his when he held it out to her. Emma was thankful Lady Elsa had quickly given her some more lessons in dancing before they left, it had been such a long while and Emma had surely forgotten all the steps. But with Killian it came without thinking.

"He will be," Killian mumbled, then shook his head. "I apologise."

"There is no need," Emma said, finding it difficult to keep herself from leaning closer as he stood right in front of her. "But no, he is not here, I am here with Lady Elsa, we have become quick friends, it was her who told me it would be impolite to decline your invitation."

"You wished to decline?"

"Yes," She admitted. They stood nearly chest to chest now, dancing in a circle as anyone else did, though they certainly moved closer to each other than everyone else. It was something that still had not changed. Her body was drawn to his, and she found it comforting to be as near to him as she was now.

It was not a waltz, but it was _something_ at least.

He leaned just a bit closer, momentarily skipping a step in the dance to smile at her. "I am happy you did not. Are you?"

"I am still deciding."

Killian chuckled lowly, walking away from her as part of the dance. She briefly danced with another man, as he danced with another woman, and even then, she swore he had not looked away from her for a second.

"How are you, Emma?" He asked once they were back together.

"I am well, and yourself?"

"You do not have to lie to me. That has not changed."

Emma frowned at him, studying the kindness in his features, the willingness to listen to her troubles. There was something else that had not changed: the way he looked at her. And it made her believe that maybe Elsa was correct. Perhaps it was indeed not too late to change her mind.

"I cannot tell you. Not here," Emma said then, acknowledging that there was something troubling her, something she wished to share with him. Something she had not told anyone else.

"Would you care for a walk?"

Emma shook her head. "No."

"Very well. If ever you need to talk, or you need help. You are always welcome here," Killian said.

"Thank you, Lord Jones." Emma smiled, releasing his hand as the dance neared its end.

He took a deep bow. "For you, anything, Milady. Thank you for giving me this dance."

Emma nodded, curtsying briefly before excusing herself back to Elsa's side.

"My goodness, Emma," Elsa started, taking two sparkling wines off a plateau from a nearby servant and gave one to Emma. "How you ever chose Lord Avery over him, I will never understand."

"There was no choice to be made, Lord Jones had not made me an offer."

"Yet," Elsa muttered into her glass. "Had you given him the time, he might have."

"Should you not be on Mr Avery's side?"

"Because he is the one who hired me?" Elsa scoffed. "I understand we have not known each other very long, but I consider you a friend, and as your friend, I only wish for you to be happy. You may smile when you are around Mr Avery, but you are miserable. The smile you keep giving Mr Jones, _that one_ is a genuine one. And of course there is the constant tapping of your fan against your lips when you are looking at him."

Emma laughed softly. "What does that mean again?"

"You know well enough what it means. But he wants it too and he does not need a fan to show it."

"Why does everyone make it seem so easy?" Emma sighed.

Elsa laughed softly, pulling Emma along for a dance. "Because sometimes, darling, it really is."

* * *

Emma had watched him put on a smile all day and evening, making conversation, pretending to be a good host when Emma could clearly tell he did not care for any of the guests. Well, he did care about one. Emma could see it in his eyes when he locked his gaze with hers from across the room and the reserved smile on his lips changed into that one smile he gave her and her alone.

Lady Elsa had left the celebrations earlier in the evening, not necessarily being one for large gatherings, but insisted Emma remained and enjoyed herself. Which oddly enough, Emma did. She spoke to the servants she once considered friends, spent time with Grace and Maple, danced with strangers merely for the purpose of dancing–and not finding a suitor–and once or twice finding herself without a partner, upon which Killian graciously presented himself as her dashing rescuer.

As the evening progressed, she enjoyed a stroll through the room, often finding his gaze through the crowd, she almost felt as though she had landed in one of her novels. The orchestra played its music, people were laughing, making conversation. And yet, when his eyes found hers, it felt as though the room was in complete silence, the people disappeared, and it was just them.

Of course, Emma understood that it was common etiquette not to roam the host's house. But she dearly missed the place she once called home and Emma hoped he would make an exception for her.

Just as she reached the door, Emma looked up once more, easily finding Killian–and realising he had not stopped looking at her since the last time their eyes had met. She had intended to ask him whether it would be all right for her to walk his hallways, just with her eyes, and she knew he would understand, as he often did. Or used to, at least.

But instead she found a question in his own eyes. _Might I follow you?_

Emma nodded discreetly–though without hesitation–her heart already picking up its steady pace.

Quietly, she slipped out of the room, but that's only how far her feet managed to take her. She leaned against the wall, thankful to have her wide gown to hide her shaking legs.

The hallway was in complete darkness, save for the light slipping underneath the door. The noise from the next room was mostly silenced, until the door opened and Killian stepped out almost as discreetly as she had.

He opened a curtain, allowing moonlight to pour through the ceiling high windows, and looked around the hallway as though searching for something. When he saw her by the door, the smile he'd had plastered on his face all evening dropped promptly, his features softened, a sort of wonder took place, his eyebrows raised the smallest amount and his lips parted slightly.

She'd once found it hard to imagine he could actually look at her like that, as though he was witnessing a small miracle, and yet here he was; looking at her as though she was his own personal miracle.

She felt herself practically drowning in the blue of his eyes when he stepped closer, his eyes so mesmerising, so beautifully blue she could hardly look away even if she wanted to.

He slowly took her in, head to toe, before smiling softly.

"You look... Different," He stated after careful consideration of his words. Emma tilted her head curiously, examining his features as to determine whether that was positive or negative. "You carry yourself differently. More... Lady-like."

Emma gave him an amused smile. "Good. Elsa shall be pleased."

"Lady Elsa, your friend?"

"Lord Avery decided that if I am to be his wife, I ought to be properly schooled in how to act like a Lady. Lady Elsa normally teaches young girls, but she says I am by far her easiest pupil," Emma spoke with feigned pride, unable to hide her grin any longer.

"You cannot be serious," Killian rolled his eyes, beginning his stroll with her through the halls she knew so well.

"I am," Emma laughed quietly. "It is not all bad, however. I have found a friend in her."

"That is good." He smiled and buried his fidgeting hands deep into his pockets.

"Have you found a new nanny for Grace yet?"

"I eh– no, I have not," He said quietly, the nervous stutter accompanied by a scratch behind his ear. "The last one has set our standards too high, I believe." Emma smiled shyly, toying with her fan between her fingers, opening and closing it when she found herself at a loss for words. "I apologise," Killian whispered. "I did not mean–"

"You've nothing to apologise for, I assure you. I simply do not know what to say."

Killian undid the ribbon that locked the stairs for guests, offering his hand as they walked up the stairs. She took it without thinking, much as he had offered his hand without thinking himself. "Is there any particular reason you asked?"

"Not necessarily," Emma said, lifting her skirt just slightly to walk up the stairs. "I simply believe Lady Elsa's sister is still looking for a family. She is more of a governess, however."

"I see," Killian nodded and opened the door to the Grand Salon for her. "I will invite her over, if it pleases you."

"You do not have to, if you do not wish to. I am simply mentioning it."

"Of course," Killian spoke, gesturing for her to sit down but she found herself distracted by a painting on the wall. She had never seen the finished painting, she only recalled sitting in the room, reading as Killian sat with Grace on his lap in a tall chair, Grace sitting quietly as possible. Of course, Killian would often tease her, tickling her side or blowing at her hair, and then the painter would get angry at them. Emma remembered hiding her giggles in her book, peeking over its pages to share a glance with Killian. His eyes mischievous and bright.

Grace had asked Emma to be in the painting, but Emma had refused, offering up the excuse that it should be a family painting. Grace had nearly made her tear up with her answer: _but you_ are _family_.

Killian had commissioned the painting about a week before she would leave the Jones' household, and thus she'd never seen it finished before.

"It's beautiful," Emma whispered, unsure whether Killian would've heard her or not, but when her voice cracked, she dearly hoped he had not.

Of course, the odds were against her, the concern laid thick in his voice as he spoke up gently, as to not startle her. "Emma, I have noticed you have been awfully quiet this night. I know something is amiss, what is it that troubles you?" He whispered, reaching out to brush his fingertips across her cheek. It took everything she had to keep herself from leaning into his touch and step away from him instead.

"You cannot–" Emma sighed, swallowing thickly as her voice sounded far less steady as she had hoped. "You cannot do that anymore, Lord Jones," She said then, wrapping her arms around herself before moving to sit by the fire.

"As you wish, Lady Emma." He nodded once, quickly composing himself and taking a seat on the other sofa. "Nevertheless, something _is_ troubling you, is there anything I might do for you?"

In the silence that followed, Emma gathered her courage, though she knew it would never be enough courage for what she needed to say, and thus she blurted out "I am with child" at such a fast pace she was not even sure if Killian had even heard her correctly.

But his stammer betrayed he did. "Oh... And..." He frowned, swallowing thickly as he shook his head. "Oh," He said once more, gentler this time. "It is mine, is it not?"

"Yes." She nodded and took a deep breath, tracing her finger over a barely visible pattern of swirls and delicate leaves on her gown. "I'm scared... I am terrified, to be honest. I am terrified of telling him. If anyone found out I had been intimate with anyone but my fiancé– been intimate before I got married!" She exclaimed almost disgusted with herself. "He would be ruined. I would be disgraced. No one would ever have me. I would be with a child on the streets."

"I wouldn't let that happen," Killian said firmly.

"That does not matter any longer, I am not yours to take care of."

"It _is_ my child."

Emma scoffed, "If he were to find that out, I am fairly certain he would challenge you to a duel."

"Emma," He frowned, rising up from his chair. "Does he hurt you?" Emma remained silent for a moment, still staring at her pale yellow dress.

"He is not around enough to even lay a finger on me."

"He's not home?"

"No, he's somewhere in Western Europe. France, I believe, though I am not sure. His letters do not specify."

"He should not leave his fiancée alone like that." Killian pulled a face of disgust. Emma looked at him, an amused smile on her lips. "What?"

"Nothing," She answered. "I was merely thinking how it would not be any different staying here with you. You are often gone from home as well."

"I am not anymore."

"No?"

"Ruby had convinced me that it would be better if I quit the job, and act like the Lord I am supposed to be."

"I cannot believe I've actually heard you say that, you _loathe_ society."

"Perhaps, but if it gives me an excuse to host gatherings and invite you, I will happily carry that hatred." He laughed softly. "And I can be with Grace of course, for she has declined any nanny that stepped through our doors. Said she did not like any of them."

"Grace likes everyone."

"They weren't you, Emma," Killian explained. "It is that simple."

Emma nodded, biting her lip as she looked away from him.

"Do you love him?"

Emma shook her head. "You have asked me that before." He had. Just before she left, he asked if she loved the man who proposed to her. Emma had shaken her head, and he offered that perhaps she would learn to, eventually. "The answer is still the same."

"I cannot say I am surprised."

"You said my heart would heal, so that I could give my heart to him!"

"Emma, had you told me it was William's proposal, I would have never said such a thing! Bloody hell, had you told me it was his proposal, I could have told you what an incredibly bad idea that was! I could have told you that you would be his fifth wife, each younger than the previous!"

"He was your friend!"

"You genuinely believe I could be friends with a man like that? I met him during my darkest times and I was not man enough to say farewell upon realising what a terrible influence he was." Killian sighed, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration as he rose from his seat on the sofa. "You recall when you first met him?"

"Yes."

"I knew William would talk of his adventures in the bedroom, as he always did, how he could simply pick a woman from the crowd, and talked about how he pleasured her, right in front of his daughter and mine. The reason I asked you to come with because I was hoping that the presence of an unknown woman would calm him down–and he did, until you left. I did not tell you the degrading things he said about you, because I am a better man than that. He is a foul man, how could you possibly give your heart to someone like him? He does not even love you. He merely thinks you are pretty to look at!"

Emma watched him pace around the room, listened to him getting angrier and angrier, until he stood right back in front of her.

"I know." Emma sighed calmly. "About all the things you said. I know."

"You _know_? And you still accepted his proposal? You are more than that, Emma!"

"It does not matter."

"Of course, it does not matter that you're nothing more than a prized possession to him? A much younger and far more beautiful wife to show off?"

"Should, by some miracle, he still want to marry me after he finds out, then I do not have to worry about a thing with him. I would marry far above my station. I would have a roof above my head and he has the money to take care of our family. No, it doesn't matter."

"You are so much more than that."

"You are so wrong, Killian." She laughed sadly. "Do you not see that?"

"No, I do not. You should not have taken the first proposal that came your way."

"I had to!" Emma yelled, getting up from the couch as well to stand before him. He did not take a step back, though her outburst clearly affected him. "You really do not see? I _am_ nothing, I _have_ nothing. No money, no name, no belongings. I do not even have a family. Thus, when a rich man offers me a marriage proposal and a way out of that life, I do not have the luxury to question it, I take it."

"You should not have to settle for less than you deserve," Killian said adamantly.

"You do not understand because you have money," Emma spoke quietly, her heart aching. She did not come here to fight with him, truthfully, she was not even certain why she came here anymore. But to fight with him was the last thing she wanted. Deep down, she'd hoped for comfort, even if she had no right to that anymore. But instead, here she stood, with him getting angrier and angrier, unwilling to understand why she made the choice she made. "Perhaps you can marry for love. As you have done before. But as a poor orphan with no belongings, I will never have that option. When I marry, I _need_ to make sure I can do what I must to survive."

"Excellent choice of words, Emma." He laughed dryly and shook his head. "You are _surviving_ , not living!"

"I do _not_ have the luxury of not making that distinction, Killian!"

A heartbeat passed before his expression became unreadable and she almost thought he would raise his voice at her as well, continue the fight they'd been fighting, but he didn't.

"Marry me."

* * *

 _ **AN: Like last chapter, I have a few notes:**_

 _ **I understand not everyone was too happy with last chapter, and I can't say I'm angry or disappointed, personally I was not too happy with that chapter either, I didn't particularly enjoy writing it, and perhaps it showed. And I'm sorry I couldn't give you a better chapter than that.**_  
 _ **I definitely understand where the ones who didn't approve are coming from, though I would also gently like to remind you that in this fanfic, it's Killian who has the walls. It's just that Killian has spent so long being unloved, and unloving, he is only just coming to terms with actually feeling something for another person again, especially when he didn't necessarily like that person to begin with. And then he is suddenly faced with making a choice that he was not ready for yet, and he made the wrong choice, but I will address that in the next chapter as well.**_

 _ **Next, in case you missed it, I have also published two deleted scenes (on AO3 only, if you want them on FFnet too, just let me know), they aren't full chapter length, just give or take a thousand words each, but they might be a nice extra for those who want it :).**_

 _ **Also, I received a mail back from the publisher, and long story short, LKaOUT will remain a fanfic, don't worry. The review was very positive, the biggest issue is that I am writing in English in a non-English speaking country, but don't worry about me, oddly enough, I am not as disappointed as I expected to be. I am more than content to be writing this as a fanfic, especially when you guys yell at me about this fanfic ;).**_

 _ **And lastly, this chapter got really long, and I had to split somewhere ;). Which in turn means that the next chapter is as good as finished, so you can expect the next chapter in two weeks, ish, depending on how hard you guys yell at me, of course :P.**_


	22. Twenty-two

Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened at his sudden request. "W–What?"

He knelt down in front of her, taking her hand in his. "Marry me," He repeated, steadier this time, making certain she heard the words clearly.

Emma barked out a laugh, pulling her hand away from his gentle grasp. "Have you lost your mind? I am _engaged_."

"To a man who does not love you," Killian said with a small tilt of his head. "Perhaps you ought marry someone who will love you–who already loves you."

Emma frowned down at him, barely finding her voice to speak up. "You love me?"

"Yes," He admitted with a shy smile. "I do."

She should be flattered, not angry. But out of all the things she currently felt, confusion, anger, _love_ , her anger stepped forward, refusing to stop yelling at him. "But you– you let me go!" She hated how her voice broke mid–sentence, how she had to bite her lip to keep her tears from falling.

"A choice I have deeply regretted since you stepped out of the door." Emma shook her head, her chest felt so tight. It was too late for this now, was it not? She was not his anymore. Was she ever even his to begin with? She was to be another man's wife.

A man she did not love, for her heart belonged to the man sitting on his knee in front of her right now, asking her the one question she had longed to hear for so long.

"I should have set my fear and pride aside, I know that now. But you are not his wife yet, you _can_ change your mind still. You do have _that_ luxury. And Emma, I promise that if you agree to become my wife, you will be so much more than what he can offer you. I can give you love, a family –"

"Milord–" He looked at her with an almost hurt look, at her refusal of using his given name "–certainly you must be aware that you gain nothing by offering me your hand in marriage. I have no lands, let alone a title, no dowry, I've no family, and as soon as I left your service, no income, I am –"

"Emma," He spoke gently, his warm voice made her heart skip a beat. The genuineness that was so clearly present in his voice caught her breath in her throat; some part of her knew already what he was about to say, whilst another part was still not quite prepared for it and preferred to run away. But he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles softly. "My Emma," He whispered then, a smile curving his lips. "Certainly, _you_ must be aware that I have no care for that. You've my heart already, Milady Swan, and if you will have the rest of me, I would find myself honoured to spend the rest of my life by your side."

"You truly love me," Emma stated in a shaky whisper. It was not a question, it was a confirmation–of something that she'd, truthfully, known for a while now–for her own stubborn mind.

But he smiled up at her and nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Then yes, I shall marry you," Emma spoke, her voice barely louder than a quiet sigh. The words were terrifying and exciting all the same. Her heartbeat rose to a strong pounding that she felt throughout her entire body, and resulted in shaking hands and a quivering breath.

He rose from his spot at her feet and smiled at her before easily sweeping her off her feet, bringing his lips to place kisses on her cheeks, her forehead, her nose and finally, her lips. She giggled against his lips as he spun them around, his arms tightly around her waist, her own cupping his cheeks.

He could not believe she agreed to be his, she felt it in his kiss, she felt it in the way he held her, her feet unable to reach the ground.

Suddenly the door burst open behind them–violently pulling both of them from their momentary happiness. Killian put her down gently, but kept his arm around her; he had no trouble with whomever walked into this, seeing them as intimate as this.

"Grace," Emma laughed surprised as the girl crashed into her legs. Emma smiled lifting her up into her arms.

"Can I be your flower girl?" Emma chuckled, looking at Killian whose smile had never left his face.

It was rare to see him so happy, but it suited him. His bright blue eyes were a far cry from the sad dark eyes she had seen the first time she met him.

"Absolutely," Killian spoke at the same time Emma said, "Of course."

"Good." Grace laid her arms around Emma's neck, pulling her into an even closer hug. "I missed you so much, Emma."

"I missed you too, Grace," Emma said and pressed a kiss on her soft pink cheek.

"You don't have to cry Emma, everything is all right now," Grace spoke reassuringly. Emma had not even noticed the tear that rolled over her cheek until Grace wiped it away with the tender touch of her small hand.

Emma laughed softly. "I am happy."

"Happy tears?" Grace asked.

"Happy tears," Emma confirmed. She looked up at Killian, still standing by her side, fingers slightly pressing into her skin, as though he was scared she would disappear again, his other hand stroked through his daughter's hair, tucking her wild loose curls behind her ear.

"My beautiful girls," He sighed, kissing Grace's temple and sharing a longing look with Emma.

"It is all right, father, you can kiss her," Grace giggled. Emma blushed but lacked the time to respond as Killian leaned forward and captured her lips with his own, giving her a long, loving kiss. "All right, but that is enough," Grace complained after what seemed like an eternity, yet still not long enough, and wriggled herself between the two, forcefully breaking the kiss apart.

"Sorry, Grace." Killian spoke, though he did not look at her. For now, his attention was Emma's, and Emma's alone.

Emma set Grace back down on the ground, who then quietly slipped out of the mansion, her father and Emma momentarily distracted by each other.

"What do we do now?" Emma asked, leaning into his side.

"First we remove all guests from my property," Killian jested, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip before placing a gentle kiss upon her lips.

"Why not let them remain? Do we not have cause for celebration?"

He chuckled softly. "Perhaps, but this is Grace's birthday celebration, and I would much rather have you to myself at this very moment."

"I find that very agreeable," Emma spoke. "So, what else?"

"I believe we have a wedding to arrange," Killian answered. "And a nursery to prepare." Emma smiled softly, meeting his gaze. He was truly happy, yet she saw traces of worry in his features, and she knew exactly where his thoughts were: he only just had her back by his side, and he worried that in six to seven months he would have to let her go again.

"It will be all right." She promised, laying her hand on his chest, over his steadily beating heart.

He covered her hand with his. "Yes," He agreed. Surely, he was not entirely convinced, but she had more than enough time to convince him still.

"I will also need to go back to Mr Avery's estate, to fetch my gowns."

"Allow me to purchase new ones for you," He mumbled, pressing his lips softly against her forehead. "I dread the idea of you having to go back there, and surely they will not fit you in a couple of months anyway."

"I ought to write a letter to him," Emma sighed into his touch. The scruffy feel of his unshaven chin against her skin reminded her of the way it felt that night, when his head was between her thighs. "He may not be the best of men, but he deserves an explanation."

"I will help you," He murmured. "But let us do that tomorrow. Tonight we will be busy with other things, I'm afraid."

Her voice was surprisingly husky as she spoke her words, "Such as?"

Killian grinned. "Contain your arousal, my love, that is not what I had in mind. Not at this time at least. What I meant was, once Ruby hears –"

"A wedding!" An excited shriek sounded out in the hallway, followed by the double doors of the Grand Salon being pushed open.

It was almost scary seeing Ruby march towards them with a dedicated pace and a big smile plastered on her face.

Subconsciously, she pressed herself further against Killian's side, and his arm wrapped tightly around her waist; an unspoken promise to protect her from anything, even a scary Ruby. It were the little things, but the knowing smile he gave her when she looked up at him made her realise just how right it all felt.

"A wedding? You are engaged? Oh, that is wonderful. A spring wedding, pink flowers in your hair. Grace should be –"

"Ruby," Killian silenced her with a chuckle. "Sit," He gestured at the table, his hand sliding from Emma's waist, only to take her hand instead. It was as though he never wanted to let her go again, and somewhere she hoped he never would.

"Is everything all right?" Ruby asked, sitting down on the chair on the left side of the table, Killian and Emma sitting across her.

"Never better," Killian replied with a smile. "Though, perhaps not in the traditional sense of the words." Ruby smiled though she was clearly confused. "It goes without saying that what will be said here today stays between us."

"Oh no..." Ruby muttered.

"What?" Killian grinned. "I know you; you can keep a secret."

"Well yes, but I _did_ just run across the hall screaming about a wedding."

Emma laughed. " _That part_ they can know."

"All of London can know, for all I care," Killian filled in. "The matter you are not allowed to talk about though is this; Emma is with child," He stated bluntly.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, it made Emma shift in her chair.

What made it worse was that she was unable to read Ruby. She did not raise her eyebrows. She did not blink rapidly. She did not smile. None of it. Instead she stared at him as though he had yet to reveal the matter she was not allowed to share.

Emma knew Ruby was difficult to read, to her at least, with so many secrets kept to herself. And moments like these made it all so much worse. Was she judging her? Was she disgusted? Emma could not even tell if she was happy, or anything even close to that.

Until finally Ruby cracked a smile, a small smile growing wider and wider.

"Congratulations, my dear." She reached over the table to squeeze Emma's hand. "And you, you should know better, knocking up an unmarried woman!" She hit Killian's head after releasing Emma's hand. Emma's eyes widened in shock until she saw Killian's wide grin after trying to dodge her hand, and realised that the smack was a playful one; that Ruby was only teasing. "But congratulations to you too, I guess," She shrugged as if she didn't care, but her eyes finally betrayed her true emotions: she was delighted. Then she winked at Emma, and Emma could not help but smile widely.

"Right." Killian said with a soft laugh, straightening his back again. "Now that that's out of the way. While a Spring wedding would be beautiful, I am afraid you will have to settle for a Winter wedding –"

"How far are you?" Ruby asked. Emma quickly counted the days, vividly remembering the day that happened two months and fifteen days ago. When Emma told her, Ruby nodded. "And you are certain?"

"Yes."

"That gives you about a month or so before you start showing, longer if you start wearing wider gowns. But I understand, the wedding must happen fast as possible, perhaps we might have them read the banns this Sunday already. Then you may get married in three weeks."

Killian shook his head. "No, I do not wish for us to marry in a church, unless–" He looked to Emma. Each time she'd envisioned her wedding, mostly when she was a child, she imagined herself in a church wedding. Not because she had a faith, but because she never imagined herself to have the coin for a Special License.

"I am not particularly a faithful person," Emma said.

"No, neither am I."

"You cannot apply for a Special License, Killian," Ruby reminded him.

"Perhaps not personally, but I know a man who owes me a favour," Killian said with a grin. "We will marry here, where we are both home. And as soon as we are able."

Ruby nodded, taking a piece of paper and a pencil from her apron. "Then I had better get started. Any invitations?"

"I have not many people I consider friends, I must admit," Killian said. "Only Belle, of course, as well as Robin and his family."

"Emma?" Ruby asked as she noted down the names.

"I only wish for all of you to be there, as my friends, not as servants," Emma said, knowing that the few friends she had, were already present in the mansion at all times. "Perhaps Lady Elsa and her sister?" Emma found herself looking at Killian as though looking for permission, but it seemed as though giving her anything other than adoring looks was the furthest on his mind right now.

"Anyone else?" Ruby asked.

"No," Emma answered.

Ruby nodded, drawing a straight line underneath the few guests she'd written down. "Do you have any idea what you wish to wear?"

"I have…" Emma frowned as she trailed off. _Nothing_. At this very moment she had absolutely nothing. Killian refused to let her fetch the few dresses she owned, and instead insisted on buying new ones. The soft pink dress she'd had in mind no longer belonged to her.

"Perhaps you might take Grace into town tomorrow," Killian suggested, squeezing her hand softly.

"All right, I believe that is all," Ruby smiled, laying down her pencil after tapping it to her lips. "If I have any other questions I will be sure to let you know."

Emma bit her lip, hiding her smile. "Thank you, Ruby."

"There is no need. Oh, does Grace know?"

"Good question," Killian laughed. "If she stood by the door the whole time she may have heard..."

"Would she have stood there the entirety of our conversation?"

He grinned. "I thought you knew my daughter?"

"Perhaps I should go see if she does, before everyone knows," Emma rose from her chair. "Though if she does not, I would prefer we wait to tell her."

"I agree," Killian said, wrapping his fingers around her wrist before she was too far away. He cocked an eyebrow.

Emma looked at Ruby who threw her hands up.

"Do not look at me, I am not here," She said and took a flower from the vase between her fingers, pretending to examine it.

Emma smiled and leaned forward, kissing his lips gently before leaving the Grand Salon. She found Grace sitting in a quieter corner of the ballroom with Maple in her lap, both slowly falling asleep, the few guests that remained were careful to avoid her.

Emma knelt down in front of her, brushing the wayward locks away from her face. "Grace?" A sleepy hum was the only answer. "Shall I put you to bed, my love?"

"No," She answered sleepily, forcing her eyes open to look at Emma. "I do not wish for this night to end for you will leave."

"No darling," Emma smiled, scooped Maple up from Grace's lap and offered her hand to help Grace on her feet. "I am not leaving again."

With Maple in one arm, and Grace holding on tightly to the other, they walked to Grace's room. Grace plopped down on her bed, already beginning to lay down before Emma reminded her that she needed to get dressed for bed first.

"Grace? Can I ask you something?" Emma asked, setting down Maple next to Grace, and moving to the wardrobe to pick out a sleeping shift.

"Of course," She answered, hiding her yawn behind her hands.

Emma laid the sleeping garments onto the bed next to her. In normal circumstances, Grace would tell Emma that she can dress herself, but when Emma moved to untie the laces of her dress, Grace made no objection at all–and instead stifled another tired yawn. "How much did you hear when I spoke to your father in the Grand Salon?"

"Nothing, I wanted to show you a trick I taught Maple," Grace replied, and for a moment Emma thought that was all, taking off her little gown and helping her into her sleeping shift in silence. "But I heard you speaking to father, so I thought I should not interrupt," She continued, getting into bed and letting Emma tuck her in. "Then I sat on the stairs waiting for you to come out again. After a while I heard yelling, I was scared and curious, so I got closer so I could hear better. I just heard father finally tell you that he loved you and then he asked you to marry him, and I heard you say yes. I was happy, so I ran inside."

Emma smiled. "All right."

"Why? What else did you say?"

"I cannot tell you now at this very moment, but eventually I will tell you what else I told him," Emma said.

"Truly?" Grace asked, pulling the blankets over her head and hiding yet another yawn. Emma nodded in reply and rose up from the bed. "Do you promise you will never leave again?"

"Yes," Emma said solemnly as she pressed a kiss to Grace's forehead. "If it is my choice, I promise I will stay right here with you."

"Father loves you," Grace mumbled, closing her eyes and turning to her side. "I do, too."

"I love you too, Grace," Emma smiled. She gave Maple a quick pet over the head, the puppy barely moving its head to look up, before leaving Grace's room.

She found Killian in the library, or rather, he'd left the door of the library open so that she would find him easily. He sat in his chair before the fire and stared at its flames as they seemed to danced in the fireplace.

"Killian?" She whispered. His eyes closed for a moment as the corners of his mouth lifted to a smile at the sound of her voice using his name. Then he looked up, extending his hand to her.

"Come," He spoke softly and tugged gently at her arm until she stood before him, then pulled her into his lap with her legs dangling over the side of the chair.

Killian smiled at her–Emma doubted he had, even for a moment, stopped smiling from the moment she agreed to become his wife–and tucked her hair behind her ear as he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. "You've put Grace to bed already?"

"Yes, she was almost falling asleep in the ballroom," Emma laughed quietly.

"It _has_ been an excitable day for her."

"Yet, she only allowed herself to drift off to sleep after she made me _promise_ never to leave her again."

"What did you say?"

"That if it is my choice, I would not."

"It _is_ your choice. Please, do not feel like you have no other choice, if this is not what you want, we will find another solution. You do not have to stay with me because the child is mine. You could–"

"That's not..." She interrupted him with a sigh. "It is as much your choice as it is mine. Are you certain you are not just choosing to marry me because it is your child?"

Killian nodded, reaching out to cup her cheek, making sure he had her full attention. "Very certain," He assured her, with absolute clarity. "My beautiful Emma, I have loved you for quite some time now. And I was a fool not to have acted upon those feelings sooner. Though I could have ended my sentence after 'I was a fool', I've made many mistakes, and I do not know if you can ever forgive me for the things I've said and the things I've done. But my heart is yours, and I will work day and night to earn your forgiveness–"

"Killian, stop that, I've already forgiven you."

"For reasons I do not understand," He sighed as he took her hand into his. "Perhaps you have forgiven me, but I have not forgiven myself." He reached deep into his pocket and picked out a golden ring, a thin gold band embellished with leaves, flowers, swirls, and a small stone that she recognised–though she'd never seen one before–as a diamond.

"What is that for?"

"I understand you have never been married before, but certainly you must know that a wedding requires a ring," He stated matter-of-factly and grinned.

"Do not tease me like that."

"It is yours, to wear when we are wed," He spoke softly, toying with it between his fingers. "I have it in my possession for six months now, but I lacked the courage to ask you. And though I do not regret asking you at this very moment, I do regret that it has become a matter of urgency, not of the heart."

"You..." Emma trailed off, searching for the words that had escaped her. "When– when did you..."

"You recall, in Versailles when I told you that I could not marry Lady Aurora, even if she had said yes, because my heart belonged to another woman."

"Yes, Lady Milah," Emma nodded.

He chuckled softly but shook his head. "I did love her. And part of me always will. She is Grace's mother, she will always be with us. But my heart, Emma, was yours, and at that moment, it had been for a while. I was stubborn and I tried to push those feelings aside and I did not want to love the woman who had time and again insulted my honour, who had slapped me across my face, and who severely lacked social skills fit to talk to a Lord." He grinned, and Emma would have felt insulted, but she sensed more would come, so she remained silent and let him speak. "But I did not love her. I loved the woman who treated me with kindness when I deserved none. The woman who pushed for what and whom she believed in. Who cared so deeply for people she had only just met. The woman who was so beautiful and so kind, who had no idea what effect she had on me.

It took me embarrassingly long, I admit, but with me, you've always given me the time I needed. So once I realised what a fool I had been, I had set out to correct my wrongs. But I was waiting for the right moment, and each time I found one, I grew frightened. I worried you would say no. Not just for me, but for Grace. I worried you would leave us, and leave both of us heartbroken. I could not do that to myself, much less to Grace. I swear to you, I've wanted to ask for so long, and I do not want you to think I only asked you because I _have_ to."

Emma smiled and reached out to cup his cheek, drawing him closer to press her lips against his. "I understand that you do not _have_ to, a lesser man would have sent me away. I do not mind that it has become a matter of urgency. I _do_ mind that you still believe you are unworthy, but I promise you, now that I am home, I will spend my days making you believe me when I say that you are. Now, might _I_ ask _you_ something?"

"Of course." He smiled, tucking the ring back safely into his pocket, where it apparently had been for six months. "Anything."

"Will you forgive me for leaving? I was scared, I made a foolish choice, and–."

"Emma," He sighed with a shake of his head and an amused smile on his lips. "My Emma, if you needed forgiving at all, I believe I had given it to you the moment I held you in my arms again–the moment you came home."

For a moment a comfortable silence fell, and he tugged her only closer to him, his arm securely around her, relishing in each other's safety.

"Home has changed a bit, though," She laughed softly, burying her head in his neck.

"How so?"

"You hired more servants?"

"Ah." Killian nodded, "I did, yes. A butler too."

"My goodness, between that _and_ you stopped doing business trips? You have become a proper Lord indeed." Killian only chuckled at that, bringing her hand to his lips to place soft kisses against her fingertips. "Have David and Mary Margaret married yet?"

"No," He answered. "I believe they started having the banns read on the day you left, and when you were gone they had it stopped again. I thought money was the issue, so I offered to procure a Common License for them, but Mary Margaret simply refused to marry unless you were there."

"Oh…" Emma mumbled.

"Don't feel bad," Killian whispered, placing a kiss on her temple. "I saw her a moment ago and she hugged me–quite a surprise, truly–then she said she was happy we had both come to our senses. If any forgiving needed to be done on her part, it has already happened."

A quiet laugh escaped Emma, "All right."

And for a while they sat there in silence, staring at each other and taking in every little thing of each other as though they did not know every single detail already.

There were moments where one would seek out the other's lips, searching for another kiss, and the other happily obliged.

There were moments where her head rested against his shoulder, her hand over his heart feeling his steady heartbeat, and the soft press of his lips against her forehead.

With one arm around her, holding her tightly, and the other on her leg, his thumb stroking lightly back and forth, more a subconscious notion than anything else. She barely felt the friction, but it was enough for her to know he was touching her and holding her as close as he could without letting anything hold him back.

When she looked up at him, he was–as she expected–already looking at her. His gaze was an intense one. His pupils were slightly dilated as though he could not wait to bring her to his bedroom. But there was something else in his eyes that assured her he would happily sit here with her for the rest of the night.

She lifted her hand from his chest to reach for his cheek, he smiled as he happily sighed into her touch.

"I've missed you," He whispered, breaking a silence that was previously only filled with the crackling of the fire, a sporadic contented sigh, and soft sounds of stolen kisses.

"I am sorry," Emma answered.

"Do not apologise, you are home now, with me–and Grace–that is what matters," He replied, kissing her gently.

"Then," She spoke as they broke apart. "I have missed you too."

They sat by the fire for a while longer, listening to the fire crackling as the mansion slowly grew silent once more. His little pocket watch showed one thirty when Ruby announced that the last of the guests had left. When Killian had told her it would be all right if they went to bed and cleaned up in the morning, Ruby gladly took that offer as she stifled a yawn.

"Perhaps we should go to bed too," Killian spoke quietly, nuzzling her hair as he spoke.

Emma laughed softly as she looked up to him. "I just realised, I have no sleeping garments whatsoever."

"I've had Mary Margaret lay some out for you in the guest room."

"Guest room?"

"I understand there is no real need for propriety anymore," He laid his hand on her belly as he spoke, "But for the sake of keeping up appearances."

"My, Lord Jones I knew you were a changed man, but I misjudged the severity of your care for society." Emma grinned, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

He snickered, shaking his head at her teasing. "It is not so much society, but your honour that I am concerned with."

"Very well," Emma sighed. "I shall sleep in the guest room."

He walked with her to the room he'd picked out for her. Emma recognised the door as one of the rooms he used to keep locked.

He wished her goodnight with a chaste kiss–at least, it started out chaste; he had her pressed up against the doorframe in no time at all, breaking away from her with difficulty, and slightly out of breath.

"Good night, love," He said with a smile.

"Good night," Emma answered, turning to her room.

The room was pleasantly warm, though the fire was already slowly burning out. In the darkness she couldn't quite make out too many things, there was a chair by the door, a desk by the window, with a single sofa next to it. The bed was large, the faint lavender scent of its clean sheets hung in the air.

As Killian had said, Mary Margaret had laid out sleeping garments for her out on the bed, as well as a few more candles for the holder on the nightstand, and a note that said _welcome home_.

After changing out of her gown, and into the night shift, she climbed into the bed.

From the moment she stepped into it, the large bed of the guest room seemed to want to drown her–other than Killian's bed, she'd only once slept in a bed this large. And even then, in Versailles, she found it odd that she was given the bed all to herself. As a child in the orphanage, you only got your own bed as soon as you were too large to sleep with three other children in the same bed. Often there were nights where she'd lain on the far edge of the bed shivering because the other three had hogged the blanket.

And now, there were three blankets on her bed, as well as a spare quilt. It was a luxury, and she felt guilty for indulging in it.

As the door of her room quietly creaked open, Emma quickly sat upright, hiding her smile behind her hand upon watching Grace slowly poke her head through the door, quietly, as though she was ready to walk away if Emma was indeed asleep.

Emma's smile faded as Grace closed the door behind her, her brow furrowed with worry. It was a trait that made her look so much like her father. "Grace? Is everything all right?"

"I lied about something." Grace blurted out, setting the candle on the chair by the door and making her way towards the bed. "Earlier. When you asked me if that was all the conversation I heard."

"Oh," Emma whispered, making space for Grace to sit down. She crawled–with some difficulty–onto the high bed and sat down closely next to Emma.

"I don't want you to die," Grace whispered, tears welling up in her tired eyes.

Emma frowned. "What makes you believe I will die?"

Grace sniffed, looking up at her when a sob escaped her. "You are with child, no?"

"Oh Grace," Emma said quietly, brushing a tear away from Grace's cheek. "That does not mean I will die. I promise you, I will not die."

"How can you promise such a thing?" Grace sniffed again, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"I can," Emma promised. "You must trust me in this. Do you trust me?"

"I do. Can I ask you something else?"

"Yes, of course."

"Do you think you might call me Gracie again? I do not think I am ready to grow up so fast."

Emma laughed, placing a soft kiss onto Grace's hair. "Anything for you, Gracie."

Grace sighed happily as she snuggled herself further into Emma's embrace. "I am very happy father finally admitted that he loves you and that you are home again. You belong here with us; you are our family, Emma."

They sat like that for a while, snuggling warmly underneath the multiple blankets, until Grace nearly fell asleep and Emma brought her back to bed.

 _You are our family, Emma_. Her smile grew, entering her room and taking the chamber robe from the chair next to the door, and putting it on before taking place on the windowsill of the guest room to look out into the crystal clear winter night. The lake had frozen over, hiding underneath a blanket of a snow.

It wasn't quite yet a full moon, but she adored the way the moon almost seemed to lit up the snow that covered the familiar garden. She knew it like the back of her hand, Grace was right. She was home now. With her _family_. She'd never had one before, she'd mostly known loneliness prior to coming here.

She couldn't understand how she could have ever thought that her place was anywhere but here. Or how she truly believed for even a moment that he did not love her.

Emma looked up from the scenery in front of her as she heard footsteps coming into the direction of her room. Weak candlelight slipped underneath the doorframe for a moment before it disappeared again.

Quickly, she ran to the door to open it. Her suddenness had made her visitor flinch, but still he turned around with a gentle smile.

"I did not mean to wake you," Killian whispered as he walked closer again, kneeling down to the floor and picking up a stack of letters.

"You did not."

"Can't sleep?"

"No," Emma answered, tugging her chamber robe closer around herself as she eyed him. He still wore his day attire, though he'd taken off his vest and cravat. He now stood before her in his white, untied shirt, giving her a view of his delicious chest hair, and Emma had to keep herself from confessing she'd much rather sleep in his bed instead. Her honour and propriety be damned.

"Well, in that case, I've brought some _light_ reading," He jested and offered her the letters. A surprisingly heavy pile of a little more than twenty letters. They were all–that she could see–sealed with his wax seal, the stack held neatly together with a chord.

"What are these?" Emma frowned, running her hand over her name on the first envelope. The handwriting a shaky script, very different from the handwriting he currently employed, but it was his nonetheless.

"These are all the letters I've ever written to you. Minus two or three or so, for I had lost a few in my unorganised state of mind."

"The letters you wrote to me?"

"The letters I wrote to the only person I trusted enough to give a glimpse into my mind." He nodded as he spoke.

"You chose me? Even in the beginning, you chose me?"

"Yes, my darling, I had chosen you before I even well realised I had," He chuckled and raised a hand behind his ear. "They are dated, so if you can, please read them in order. I am giving them to you because I believe this is not a secret I should keep from you. I have said certain things that I am not proud of, and not all of it are kind words," Killian warned her. "But I wish for you to read them nonetheless."

Emma nodded, hugging the letters to her chest. "If that is what you want, I shall do so."

"Thank you." He smiled and gave her a nod of his head. "Goodnight."

"Killian." She reached out for him before he'd stepped away from her, and tugged him closer. Standing tip toe, he still had to bend down and meet her lips halfway. Emma smiled shyly after pulling away from that one, chaste kiss. Even such a simple kiss had sent her head spinning and her heart fastening. "Goodnight," She whispered.

His smile was a little brighter this time, the squeeze of his hand a reassuring one. "Goodnight, love."

* * *

 _Miss Emma,_

 _I do not know why I wrote down your name. I do not know why I did not pen down Ruby's or Mary Margaret's or even Grace's. Perhaps because I was thinking of–_

 _I did not mean it like that. I thought of your idea, is what I meant. I was NOT thinking of you._

* * *

 _Miss Emma,_

 _Forgive me for writing to you once more, but on my second week of loneliness I find myself once more thinking of your idea, and since it worked so well on that first night…_

* * *

 _Miss Emma,_

 _I confess, there were times where I dearly wished I had sent you away when I had the chance. I also confess that I am now glad I did not._

 _There were times I wished you would knock my door in the middle of the night, and there were times where I cursed you for being so bloody… you._

* * *

 _Emma,_

 _I met with two men today, their library quite impressive, you would have loved it, I am certain. When I spoke of you, your love for literature that is, they mistook you for my wife, and offered me a book as a gift for you. I admit I did not correct them, I don't know why, truthfully. Perhaps I do, but I am also afraid that you will one day read these letters, perhaps one day soon, and I do not wish for you to realise the extent of my feelings for you._

 _I find it hard to admit them to myself, let alone anyone else, and, God forbid, you._

* * *

 _Emma,_

 _Strangest thing, but on this lonely night, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, all I can think of is how beautiful you looked in your red dress. Though I did not have the most pleasant of evenings, knowing you enjoyed yourself was enough for me. Your smile was enough for me._

* * *

 _My dearest Emma,_

 _I do realise that Lady Aurora was correct. I cannot give her my heart, for it is not even mine to give away. I no longer have it in my possession and I am wondering if it ever was even mine to begin with._

 _I cannot even begin to understand why I thought I could fall in love with her._

* * *

 _My dearest, Emma,_

 _One day, my darling, I will be brave enough to tell you what you mean to me. Perhaps that day will come sooner rather than later._

 _I cannot remove you from my thoughts, quite frankly it is maddening. I am reliving your embrace every time I close my eyes. I look forward to coming home, I dearly hope you are bold enough to hold me again. For I firmly believe that being in your arms is the place I belong._

* * *

 _My dearest,_

 _I mean,_

 _Emma,_

 _I apologise, it is a force of habit. I have made terrible mistakes in my life. I have said things I regret. But I confess I have never regretted not saying something. Until now. It has been a week since I let you walk out of the door, a week since I have let you go without a single objection, and a week since my daughter stopped talking to me._

 _Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Grace are angry with me, truthfully I wish Ruby would be more like Grace and not talk to me at all. Instead she keeps reminding me what a terrible mistake I have made._

* * *

 _Emma,_

 _In the two months you have been gone, Grace has barely spoken to me, not until last week, when I told her that I had invited you to her birthday soirée. Ever since then she has not been able to shut her mouth about you, and at least one thing has returned to normal: Grace speaking of you with the highest of praise and utmost devotion._

 _I admit, I did not only invite you for her. But for my own selfish reasons._

 _It has come to my attention that you are in fact betrothed to William Avery, but it has also come to my attention you are still not wed to him. I dearly hope you will allow me to be selfish tomorrow, but I have every intention to propose to you, my own reputation be damned._

* * *

 _My love,_

 _So by now, you have hopefully read all the letters, knowing exactly what goes on in my mind, precisely as you requested once. I chose to let you read them for I believe this should not be a secret to keep from you. I hope, so dearly that you are still willing to remain by my side, my love, for I am in love with you, I could not deny it even if I desired to. My heart is yours, it has been yours for a long while. You'd taken it with you when you left, and now that you are home, I finally feel as though I can breathe again, and now I never want to spend another second separated from you. I wish for you to remain by my side, always._

 _Yours with all my heart,_

 _K. Jones._

* * *

 _ **AN: Surprise!**_

 _It's always been my intention to update after a week, but I did like all of you yelling at me. :P As long as it is all in good fun, of course._

 _A few more notes:_

 _Thank you so, so much to Mary for the incredible fanart you've made for this story, I actually can't believe it, it's so beautiful!_

 _A question that is most asked apart from the 'I hope he isn't only marrying her for the baby' (I hope this chapter answered that), is 'how many chapters will LKaOUT still have'. Now I can't say for certain, but I believe 4 more chapters, epilogue included. It could be that one of them turns out to be a split chapter, or I write just a few extra scenes to fill an entire chapter. So we'll see. But yes, we're running close to the end._

 _And just thank you for all the kind comments you've bestowed upon me in regards to this story, the publisher, etc, I am grateful to share this journey with you!_


	23. Twenty-three

_Christmas Eve, 1816._

Night had long fallen when her fingers played the keys in the familiar pattern Elsa had taught her. She could not read the notes, and playing a song from heart–as Killian often did–was impossible, but she remembered the order in which to press down the keys to play a song.

Elsa had made her play this tune so many times she could almost play it with her eyes closed, except tonight, getting the ending right seemed a difficult task as she was unable to find the correct keys for the final notes. She gave up with a sigh after pressing a few wrong ones and flinched when Killian suddenly stood behind her, taking her hand within his and pressing down the correct keys and finished the tune with her.

"You have been practising," He murmured below her ear, his breath tickling her skin.

Emma laughed softly, tilting her head slightly as his nose caressed up and down her neck in the gentlest of ways, easily sending a shiver up her spine. "While it is true that I am able to play a few more notes than I did before I left, I would hardly call my effort _practise_." She turned to face him, his lips near hers, inviting as ever. "How long have you stood there for?"

"A while, actually. I confess seeing you play the piano is _quite_ the attractive sight."

"I certainly know what you mean," Emma smiled, brushing her lips against his for a gentle kiss. "Will you play for me?"

"Much as I would love to, my darling, I came to tell you that your bath has been prepared. I can play for you after," He said, fingers toying with the loose tendrils of her hair as he kissed the tip of her nose. "Or tomorrow." A kiss on her cheek. "Or the day after." A kiss on her other cheek. "Or the day after that." A kiss on the bridge of her nose.

Emma smiled, interrupting him before he could continue. "If you keep this up, I will not be making it to my bath while it is still warm."

"No, that is probably true," Killian answered, taking her hands within his to pull her up from the little bench and tug her against his chest. She loved the way his arms wrapped around her, the sense of belonging that came with looking into his adoring eyes, the happiness that crinkled his eyes so handsomely. "I would have kissed every inch of your body had you not stopped me."

Emma hummed, her brows creasing. "Remind me why I did?"

"Bath," He nudged her nose with his and released her. "I've had a pot of tea prepared and there are a few new books in the library, if you like."

"Thank you," Emma said. "I will see you after, then?"

"Of course."

Picking out a book to read was a surprisingly difficult task when her mind kept wandering, filling her head with images of Killian's lips kissing every inch of her body. He desired her every bit as much as she wanted him, and yet, he made her sleep in a guest bedroom because he wanted so desperately to be a proper gentleman. So that he could be a husband deserving of her.

Upon picking a book that stood out most, through her hazy thoughts, she'd made her way to the bathroom. The steam of the hot bathwater had fogged up the mirror above the fireplace. By the tub on a small table was the small pot of tea and a cup Killian had mentioned.

Stepping into the lavender-scented water, after carefully folding her garments over the provided chair, Emma found that the water was almost scorching compared to the cold room, yet sent a pleasant chill over her spine.

She didn't really know how long she'd sat there, submerged in water, a half-empty cup of tea in her hand, the enthralling book in the other. But a knock on the door made her nearly drop both into the water.

"Darling?" Killian's voice sounded just outside the door.

Emma smiled, setting her cup back on the table. "Yes?"

"May I come in?"

"Good heavens, do you know how scandalous that would be?" Emma teased, a grin forming on her lips.

"Very," He answered, sounding equally amused. "But seeing as you are to be my wife, I cannot think of anyone who would have an objection."

"Fair point," Emma answered, yet she crossed her legs and kept her arms close to herself as to make an attempt at covering herself: there were scarcely any soapy bubbles left to do it for her. "Come in."

He entered the room carrying a bucket of steaming water, a smile still on his lips. "Ruby was concerned the water would have grown too cold," He explained.

"A little," She confessed as she drew her legs closer to let him carefully pour the water into the tub. It wasn't until the hot water started to reach her legs that Emma realised just how cold the bathing water had gotten.

"You have been in here for a while," Killian said, not quite accusing, as he set the bucket down and ran his arm through the water to mix it for her. He made a gentlemanly attempt at not gazing at her naked form, but he couldn't help himself. The tips of his ears coloured a soft shade of red as she caught him taking a peek, but he did not seem apologetic about it.

Not that she blamed him. They'd spent the night together before, and in a few days, they would again.

"Yes, must I come out?"

Killian shook his head, leaning his hands on the sides of the tub and giving her a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I would not have brought you new water, if I wanted that, now would I?"

"No," Emma said and smiled. "I suppose not."

"Are you well, though?"

"Yes, this book simply made me forget about the time for a moment. I hadn't seen it before, I believe it to be one of the new books you mentioned."

"Yes, I brought it from the last trip I made," He spoke as he sat down with his back against the tub, facing away from her. "It had become such a habit to search and buy a book for you that it wasn't until I came home that I realised I had no one to give the book to." A quiet sigh escaped him, then he shook his head–more so to himself than to her. "Read to me?"

Emma had learned a long time ago that he rarely ever asked her that because he wanted to be told a story. He only asked it as a distraction, perhaps even to listen to the sound of her voice.

And so she read to him, her gentle voice easing his tensed shoulders.

He may have sat with her back to her, only giving her a view of his profile, but she could pinpoint the moment he stopped listening to the story and started listening to her voice instead. His eyes closed and the nervous fiddling with his hands slowly ceased.

As she shut her book, laying it to the other side of the tub, she kept mumbling–nonsense mostly, since he was not paying attention to her words–and gently sat upright.

For a brief second, he tensed when he felt her fingers tentatively tracing the back of his neck. But then, finally, a smile started shaping on his lips.

The water sloshed slightly as she leant over the side of the tub to place a soft kiss on his cheek. He tilted his head just a little bit, giving her room to place a trail of kisses across his jaw.

She reached around his neck, her fingers slowly undoing the knot of his cravat.

"Emma," He softly complained, his hand grabbing hers before she could continue.

"I miss you," She whispered.

"And I you," Killian answered, turning his head to face her. "But–"

"You've said it yourself," Emma started, cupping his jaw to draw him in for a kiss–though it was barely a brush of his lips against his, a tease, an invite. "We have no real need for propriety anymore."

He chuckled as he released her hand, to indicate she had convinced him. "Will you ever stop tormenting me so, my love?"

"No, I do not think so," Emma answered, kissing him properly this time. "Come in the tub with me? The water is nicely warm."

"If you wish for me to," He said, allowing her to unbutton his vest and rid him of it. As he stood up, he took a deep breath and pulled the shirt over his head in a swift motion, revealing the dark mass of chest hair. He smiled at her as he noticed her stare, the intimacy sparkling between them as he undressed before her and got into the tub with her.

Of course, she was aware of how naked they were, but the touch of his skin against hers, the brush of his lips against her bare shoulder, the warm water surrounding them, somehow it was as comfortable to her as sitting together on the sofa by the fire.

"You mustn't worry so much for my honour," She sighed quietly, laying back against his chest. "In a year from now, when our family has grown, and I am your wife, no one will have a care whether I spent this night with you in a tub."

He hummed amusedly, nuzzling her hair. "You are correct."

"I am glad you agree, I also wish you would see how terribly lonely sleeping in the guestroom is."

"Three more nights, my darling," Killian chuckled, taking her hand within his and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"You are impossible," Emma groaned, pulling her hand away from him and stubbornly crossing her arms.

She felt his chest vibrate against her back as he suppressed a laugh. "Don't be cross with me, my love."

She loved and hated him equal parts for how easily she succumbed to him, and how easily he knew how to draw her back to him. His choice of words made her heart pound in her chest, his nose brushing behind her ear made her knees weak, and his hand tracing over her side, down to her legs, made her entire body arch into his touch.

"I am not." The words resembled a gasp more than anything else.

"Good, it would be terribly unfortunate if my betrothed disliked me, only three days before we are to be wed."

"Even if I was, I know of a way you can make amends."

"Yes? And how is that?" She looked over her shoulder to see him arch an amused eyebrow, mischief sparkling in his gorgeous blue eyes. He knew exactly what she would suggest, and she knew he would not deny her. Not tonight.

He helped her turn around in the tub, straddling his lap. She laid her arms around his neck, her chest flush against his. His fingers ghosted over her back, the barest hint of his touch leaving a trail of shivers in its wake. "You may begin by kissing me," She said huskily.

His approving hum was accompanied with a nod, bringing his lips to hers, but not quite yet kissing her. "I can do that. And then?"

"I suppose we will see where that leads us, won't we, Mr Jones?" Emma teased.

"I suppose we will, Miss Swan," He answered lowly and kissed her tenderly. Though his kisses and touches had been anything but scarce since she returned to him, with this regained intimacy it felt as though she was kissing him for the first time all over again. Her heart pounding in her chest, each touch sent a fire burning underneath her skin. The never-ending desire of her body's longing to be touched by him satiated at last.

Soft moans escaped him between the kisses, each time she grinded down, feeling him grow harder between them.

"Emma," He whispered as he moved his hands to her thighs, "May I?"

"You don't have to ask," Emma replied as she joined her body with his, and a quiet gasp fell over her lips as he let her adjust to him.

She nodded to his unspoken worry– _are you all right?–_ and answered him with a kiss.

At first their movements were almost clumsy, unable to find a proper rhythm, but too desperate to be with each other to care.

And then they found each other, his arms wrapped around her, with his fingers threading through her hair and his head buried into her neck.

Quiet little grunts fell over his lips as they traced over her collarbone, his breath warm against her skin.

With each thrust, she hid her moans against his shoulder.

Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as she claimed his body with hers.

Her fingers dug into his skin, desperately holding onto him as her body started to tense.

"Emma…" He pleaded, her name barely louder than the water that splashed around her.

"Hmm?"

"Let go."

" _I can't_ ," She whimpered.

A devious chuckle fell over his lips as he brought his hand between them, his fingers finding her most sensitive spot, and with a single pinch and thrust, she threw her head back and let her body fall apart in his arms.

"You are exquisite, my darling," He grinned, brushing his wet fingers over her heated cheeks. Little droplets rolled down from his forehead to his cheeks, sweat or water, Emma wasn't certain. Though, his cheeks were as red as she imagined hers to be. "I suppose," He started quietly. "I understand how lonely the guestroom is. Seeing as mine feels the same way."

Emma could hardly contain her self-satisfied grin, he saw it too; tracing his thumb over her bottom lip. "Those issues are easily solved."

He hummed. "Yes, I believe they are."

* * *

"Good morning," He murmured against her neck, gently tightening his embrace.

"Good morning," Emma answered, snuggling a little deeper into the comfort of his arms. She'd only known once what it was like to sleep in his arms, but to wake up in them was an entirely different feeling indeed. Never once in her life had she woken up, without the feeling of complete loneliness washing over her. For the first time ever, she woke up curled up into the safe embrace of the man who loved her, and she knew, from the moment that her eyes opened, that she was loved.

His hand slowly trailed down to her thigh, where her shift had gathered around her hips, and laid his hand onto her belly. Only the barest hint of a rounded belly was visible–only there if you knew it was there–but from his gentle gestures he seemed as though he was already holding their baby in his hands.

 _Their baby_.

An involuntary giggle escaped her, her hand quickly reaching to cover her mouth at her shameful outburst.

Killian's chuckle tickled her ear. "What?"

"I am happy," Emma said.

"Good," He answered. "Hope you have enjoyed it while it lasted for I just heard Grace's door close quite forcefully."

Emma flinched–much to Killian's amusement–as their bedroom door opened without so much as a warning.

"It is Christmas!" Grace yelled, climbing onto the bed, jumping up and down around them.

"Good morning to you too," Emma mumbled, stifling a yawn as she stretched.

"'Tis time for presents!" Grace spoke excitedly, tugging at Emma's hand.

"Breakfast first."

"Just one, Emma, please? The smallest one?"

"No."

"Father?"

Killian chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "No."

With a deep groan Grace let herself fall down between them, staring at the ceiling with a large pout as though that would convince them.

Emma laughed at her theatrics. "The longer you remain, the longer you will have to wait to open your presents, Gracie."

It was all convincing she needed, quickly she was back on her feet again, the door barely falling shut behind her as she ran out of the room.

After breakfast, Emma sat on the sofa in the Grand Salon, her cup of coffee within her cold hands, as she looked at the tree they'd set up a few days after her arrival. Grace had of course decorated it, Killian had aided her but behind his back, Grace had replaced several of the decorations.

Grace plopped down in front of the tree, impatiently staring up at her father as he teased her about perhaps waiting just a bit longer to open the gifts.

Emma hid her smile in her cup as she drank from it. A year ago she'd practically dragged Killian upstairs to celebrate with them, he'd had trouble spending the day with them, and this year he had been the first to mention the Christmas gifts.

One day, Killian and Emma had gone out to the town together whilst Grace was being tutored and got her more dolls for her dollhouse, another dress, ribbons for her hair, and a collar for Maple.

Being that Emma had no coin left, after leaving his employment, they had both agreed they would not exchange gifts between the two of them. But of course, Killian surprised her with–as he called it–two small gifts. Another book, to satisfy her literary needs, and a small ornamental box containing a brooch, two small flasks of perfume, a pencil, and a letter opener, and on the side was inscribed _il n'y a rien de plus doux que l'amour._

It looked expensive and Emma knew it was the sort of gift women would show to their lady-friends to say _see how much my lover adores me_. For Killian it was more a way of saying, _see how much I adore you_. Though he didn't need to give her gifts to say it, it was more than clear in the way he looked at her. As Grace was playing with her dolls, Killian came to sit beside her and whispered the translation in her ear. When Emma confessed to feeling guilty for not giving him anything, Killian laid his arm around her and assured her that her love was enough for him.

Gently setting the box aside, Emma took the book in her lap and started reading. Grace briefly looked up, deciding whether or not the story was worth laying down her dolls for–and eventually deciding against it.

She did not know exactly when she'd fallen asleep, she had only a vague memory of Killian taking the book from her hands and reading the story for her as she laid her head to rest against his shoulder. And then she woke up to the soft touch of fingertips on her cheeks, a gentle scent of spices–like Ruby's kitchen but fainter–washing over her.

"Emma?" Grace asked quietly, dragging her further into consciousness. She felt the weight of the knitted blanket that was draped over her, the softness of the pillow underneath her head, and realised she was no longer laying in Killian's arms. The pins that had held her hair up had been removed, and the tendrils that had fallen over her face were currently being brushed behind her ear in the gentlest fashion.

"Yes, darling?" Emma mumbled, slowly opening her eyes. Before her, on her knees, sat Grace. She had flour in her hair and dough clinging to her little hands, the spitting image of Ruby when she had just finished making her bread.

"Grace," Killian's warning voice sounded, looking up revealed him just walking through the door. "Have I not told you to let Emma sleep?"

"I only wanted to ask her to braid my hair, Father."

"No, I told you—"

"Killian," Emma interrupted him, sitting upright with a small grunt and finding her pocket watch to check the time. "It is fine, besides, I should not be asleep all day, now should I?"

Killian pursed his lips into not quite a pout as he crossed his arms. "You need rest, darling."

"It is almost four o'clock, surely I have rested enough by now," Emma countered with a smile and turned to Grace. "Have you brought a ribbon?"

Grace nodded, lifting her hand almost to her face to offer her one of her new blue ribbons along with her hairbrush. The sofa dipped slightly as Killian sat down beside her, watching her hands carefully as Emma brushed out Grace's hair. He looked confused as she started out by splitting Grace's hair into sections, his frown growing each time she crossed a section of hair to the middle. As soon as she noticed his confusion, Emma slowed down to show him, but eventually he gave up in trying to follow along and leant back into the sofa.

"If we have another daughter," Killian started once Grace was out of the room, having run off to play in the snowy garden with Maple, "I do hope they will be braiding each other's hair."

Emma chuckled, pulling her legs up into the sofa. "It is not _that_ difficult, Killian."

"I beg to differ," He spoke, reaching around her to brush her hair over her shoulder. "I've already forgotten how to start."

"Begin by taking three even sections," Emma began her explanation.

She easily proved to him it was not that difficult indeed, while, yes, he had his difficulties in holding all the hair in his hand–much to Ruby's amusement when she walked in on the scene to bring tea and some of the gingerbread cookies Grace and she had made together–he learnt fairly easily.

* * *

Two days later, Emma stood in front of the mirror Ruby had set in the Petit Salon, tilting her head as she looked at her own reflection. Whilst Grace aided her father with getting ready in his office, never diverging from his side, Ruby and Mary Margaret had helped Emma with her gown, hair, and a little bit of make up. They'd run around the Petit Salon almost as nervous as she was, with each their own task, until they both disappeared and for a brief moment, Emma finally had a minute to breathe.

The night before, Ruby had sat down with Emma to go over the whole day once more. Emma did not think Ruby could not possibly be any more prepared than she already was, and Killian found it all quite amusing, much to Ruby's dismay.

As much as any girl did, Emma often dreamt of her own wedding, imagining the gown, her hair, her husband. And as perfect as her wedding was in her imagination, it was nothing compared to what she had now.

She stood, in a soft gold gown, embellished with lace, flowers, and beads, her hair tied back in loose curls into a braided bun, waiting to marry a man who truly loved her. She laid her hand over the proof of their love, growing in her belly, as she stared at herself. Beautiful. Killian had called her beautiful so very often, and looking at herself now, radiant, happy, she was more than inclined to believe him.

She looked up as the door creaked open and Ruby entered the Petit Salon with Grace following closely. With Grace spending most of her time by her father's side, Emma had not seen her since breakfast. The look of her in the white dress they'd picked out together almost immediately brought tears to Emma's eyes.

"No crying!" Ruby scolded, and placed the small, square box she was holding on the table.

Quickly Emma brought her fingers to dab at the tears threatening to spill. "Sorry!"

"Are you nervous?" Grace teased as she came to stand by Emma's side before the mirror. Often times when they dressed up together, Grace would comment on how they looked beautiful, like princesses. This time, Emma could see it in her eyes before she even said it, and with a smile, she tugged Grace a bit closer to her side.

"Very much so," She confessed.

"Then you shall be glad to hear Killian is nervous as well," Ruby chuckled.

"You are enjoying this aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. Remember when I talked about the spring wedding, with flowers in your hair?"

"I do," Emma replied, watching Ruby take delicate wreath of white artificial flowers from the box. "Oh, Ruby, it's stunning."

"Good, then it fits the stunning bride," Ruby smiled, placing the crown on Emma's head and securing it with a few pins. "Belle has brought it from France, once she learnt how disappointed I was that there could be no real flowers in your wedding."

Emma laughed softly, looking back into the mirror, adoring the way the fine flowers sat in her hair. "Then I shall be sure to tell her thanks."

Ruby nodded. "I am going to see if Killian is ready and then I'll come fetch you in a moment. You make sure she doesn't cry, all right, Gracie?"

"Promise."

As Ruby left the Petit Salon, Grace quietly stepped away from the mirror and started pacing. Emma had noticed she had held one hand tightly balled in a fist from the moment Grace walked into the room, but she'd brushed it off as nerves. Now, watching Grace pace nervously through the room, one hand clenched into a fist, and the other wrapped tightly around it, Emma realised she was holding something.

"Are you well, Gracie?" Emma asked.

"Yes."

"What are you holding?"

"Nothing."

"All right?"

Grace smiled at that, seemingly thinking Emma had accepted her answer, but before she could speak up again, a knock sounded on the door, and Grace rushed to open it. Suddenly her heart started pounding in her chest and throat, a little more fierce and she'd end up fainting. Even as Grace opened the door, revealing David, not Ruby, her nerves did not ease.

"I've come to fetch the bride and flower girl," David said, smiling brightly as his gaze landed on Emma. "You look stunning."

"Shouldn't you be –" Emma pointed in the direction of the ballroom, too nervous to properly finish her sentence.

"I thought you might like someone to walk you down the aisle."

Emma held her hand before her mouth, "Ruby is truly going to murder me if I start crying now. Thank you, David."

"It is my honour," He smiled, offering his arm as they walked behind Grace towards the ballroom. With one final look over her shoulder to Emma, Grace walked in with a bright smile plastered on her face. The ballroom had been divided into on one side a wedding aisle, which would later be cleared out for dancing, and another side for the wedding breakfast. Almost fatherly, David brought her safely to where Killian stood waiting for her at the front of the aisle. Walking down the aisle had definitely been easier with David by her side to lean on, and she made sure to thank him once again when she finally stood by Killian's side again.

"You look beautiful," Killian whispered, visibly restraining himself from reaching out for her. "Are you nervous?"

"I am better now that I am by your side," Emma confessed.

"Me too," He smiled, looking up as the vicar started talking.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"

Almost as Emma expected, the man sounded monotonous, almost dull, as he read from his book. Emma knew Killian had the ceremony altered a bit, to keep most of the religious parts and prayers out of it, but even Killian couldn't keep the vicar from reading from The Book Of Common Prayer.

Emma recalled a night not so long ago where they'd sat in the library by the fire, and Killian read to her from the book. He'd mostly done so to tease her, and to prepare her for when to say which things, in hopes of easing her nerves. But he had done so with such a mockingly monotone voice, that Emma more often than not burst out into laughter, upon which Killian scolded her–and Emma, in turn, made up for her _scandalous_ behaviour by kissing him until he had no more objections to her laughter.

The book had been quickly forgotten that night, but Emma knew perfectly well when to say "I will" at the correct moment. She smiled at Killian as she spoke the words, his eyes never looked brighter than they did just now, as if up until now, he had been terrified that she would change her mind. But Emma didn't, why would she, when she had never been happier?

Killian didn't look away from her as the vicar asked him to repeat his words, his eyes firmly locked with hers. They had chosen not to speak their own vows, but an alteration to the vows from the book, deciding that all the promises they would hold to each other should remain theirs.

Emma doubted Killian needed reminding, for when he spoke his vows, they did not sound repeated. They sounded genuine, as though they were his own words. "I, Killian Jones, take thee, Emma Swan, to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part."

And then it was Emma's turn, speaking slow and clear, with a voice as filled with love as Killian's was. "I, Emma Swan, take thee, Killian Jones, to be my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part."

"The ring?" The vicar asked. Grace stepped away from her place behind Emma, smiling widely as she finally unclenched her small fist, revealing the ring in her palm.

"I kept it safe, father," Grace said proudly. "As I promised."

"Thank you, Gracie," Killian spoke, "You did good, darling."

And then, at last, Killian took her hand within his, placing the golden ring on her finger. "With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."

Emma knew, this would be the part where they knelt and prayed, but somehow Killian had managed to convince the vicar to leave that part out of it as well. Even if it was generally frowned upon. Though, Emma was certain that bribing a vicar was also frowned upon.

"Forasmuch as Killian Jones and Emma Swan have consented together in wedlock, and have witnessed the same before this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together."

A small applause erupted along with the sound of laughter. Emma felt her cheeks hurt from smiling so widely. She was married now, to the man standing in front of her, to the man she had loved for so long, and who had loved her in return for nearly just as long. He was her husband now. Her _family_.

As everyone made their way to the other side of the ballroom, Killian tugged her along to the hallway, and then once out of everyone's view, he kissed her. It was an impatient kiss, but loving nonetheless. He pushed her against the wall, his hands tugging at her waist until their bodies were firmly pressed together, her arms wrapped around his neck.

"My wife," Killian mumbled, the smile that had never once left his lips was still present. He hummed softly, bringing in his thumb to Emma's chin, lifting her face to him. "I like the sound of that," He whispered against her lips, kissing her once more.

"My husband," Emma tried the words out for herself, unable to keep herself from smiling–not that she wanted to. "It will take some time getting used to, but I certainly like it."

"Your husband," He repeated her softly. "I am yours," He said as if only now coming to that realisation.

"And I am yours," Emma promised.

After they had signed the registry, Ruby being Emma's witness, and Robin being Killian's, the Vicar was sent away, and the celebrations started by having breakfast together. More tables had been brought into the ballroom and they'd been placed in a square, so that everyone sat at the same table.

As per Emma's request, the servants attended the celebrations as friends, the food Ruby had prepared was presented on a table by the side so that everyone could take it for themselves.

"We should tell stories," Mary Margaret suggested, breaking through the laughter and conversation that previously filled the room.

"About?" Ella asked.

"Mr Jones and Emma, of course," She chirped. A cautious silence fell, in which everyone took a glance at Killian.

"I have one for you," Belle spoke up first with a wide grin and told the room the tale of when she first met Emma. Saying she knew, before she'd even met her, that Emma was the reason Killian had changed so much since the last time she'd seen him, but that Killian, stubborn as he was, refused to admit it.

Ruby in turn recounted every single time she'd caught them kissing, making Emma hide her blush in her hands as Killian shook his head–though a smile was apparent on his lips.

Mary Margaret spoke of the first time she came to Killian's household and finding a man so deeply heartbroken, so deprived of love, that she wondered if he could ever open his heart again. He rarely laughed, or even smiled. Of course he loved his daughter, though he had trouble showing it, and he cared for people in different ways. But she did not see him open his heart to love again until he met Emma.

Grace silenced the room when she told their story from her eyes, how she grew to love Emma, and watching her father grow happier with Emma by his side, confessing that she often wished upon the stars that they would fall in love so they could be happy together.

More stories were shared, some moving to silence, others to laughter. Everyone had different opinions on when he started changing, and when he fell in love, but many confessed to knowing they'd fallen in love with each other well before they even knew it themselves.

It was nearing midnight when Emma finally made her way to the bedroom, though the true wedding celebrations–such as the dancing and playing games–lasted only until the late afternoon, most of their guests had remained until the late evening. Belle would not leave the mansion until a few days later, but she had left their company to spend time with Ruby.

Robin and his wife had left when their son started falling asleep whilst playing with Grace and her dolls. Robin had called her _Milady_ during their goodbyes, and before Emma could object, she realised that by marrying Killian, she was, in fact, a lady now. By the time Elsa, Anna and her husband left–after playing quite a few games of cards–it was late enough for even Grace to have fallen asleep on the sofa with Maple curled up against her.

Emma had already changed into her nightgown when Killian joined her in their bedroom after bringing his daughter to bed. She stood by the window, a blanket wrapped around herself, staring out into the darkness of the cold winter night, when he came to stand behind her.

"Are you well, my wife?" He asked, laying his arms around her and holding her tight in his embrace.

Emma sighed contentedly, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "I am."

"My wife," He murmured, his breath tickling her ear. "I think I'll never tire of saying it."

She giggled softly, "I think I'll never tire of hearing it."

They stood like that for a while, their first moment of true solitude of the day, never speaking, simply enjoying the silence, and each other. A reflection of themselves faintly visible in the window, a loving husband and an adoring wife.

She watched him carefully in the reflection as he placed gentle kisses below her ear and down her neck. His hands slipped down to her legs, pulling up the fabric of her nightgown until it sat bunched up within his hands and his fingers teased over her thighs.

Emma turned in his arms, her lips easily finding his. Soft kisses turning hungrier and hungrier, until they were both panting. Without warning, and with a wicked grin, he hooked his hands under her thighs and lifted her up, her legs anchoring around his waist.

She laughed against his lips, holding onto his neck as he carried her over to the bed and laid her down on the cold sheets, placing a tender kiss upon her lips.

Soon enough all clothes were discarded, tossed to the floor beside the bed. Long, breathtaking kisses were shared. Tender touches, loving words exchanged.

Their first night as husband and wife was night of desire, breathless panting, adoring gazes, lazy, and lustful lovemaking, and passionate affection.

* * *

 _ **AN: Hi!**_

I'm really sorry for the wait on this one, but I hope it was worth it nonetheless.

I understand that getting two chapters within a week from each other, and then suddenly no update for nearly two months seems like a whack schedule, and believe me, I think so too. I wish it could be different, but unfortunately that's not the case. I have no issue sharing what my problems were, but I have issues sharing them here because it doesn't seem like the right place, especially because I just want you to be able to enjoy this chapter without then suddenly reading some depressing Author's Note :P

I only hope you know I am working hard to write an enjoyable story for you, and that you'll forgive me if some updates take a little longer than others. :)

As for this chapter, I confess I have taken quite a few liberties with the whole wedding thing, so I hope you'll forgive me. Since it was previously established that neither of them are very religious, it seemed a little ridiculous to suddenly give them a full-blown religious wedding, completely according to The Book Of Common Prayer, furthermore, this book made for incredibly boring weddings as well, so I took a few liberties there too because I didn't want you all to fall asleep while reading this. (Also the vows, the wife should add to her vows 'and to obey' which, let's be honest, is not a very in character thing for Emma to say...)

Thank you for your incredible support, friendship, and love, it means the world to me!

(And a big thank you to Lianne for reading this chapter through for me! :))


	24. Twenty-four

_Late January, 1817._

Emma stood with her arms wrapped around herself as she watched David and August work at the bottom of the empty pool tugging the overgrown plants loose and tossing them aside.

"Did he say _why_ he wanted you to do this?" Emma questioned with a frown. The broken windows, although mostly covered in ivy and other plants, let in a gust of cold wind and she tugged her shawl a bit closer to herself. "Surely he could have waited with this until the weather was more forgiving."

"Once you are busy for a while it isn't that cold anymore, Milady," David answered with a grunt as he tore a large chunk of ivy from the pool walls. Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes. From the moment Killian and her wed, all the servants, save for Ruby, of course, had started calling her Milady. It did not matter that Emma had once sat among them in the servant's area. Emma had often told them that they were still allowed to call her by her name. _But it would not be proper Milady, we mustn't_. At least Emma had finally been able to convince Mary Margaret to call her Emma again–even if it was only when they were alone.

Killian had offered to look for a Lady's Maid a few days after their wedding, deciding that now that she was a Lady, she needed one. Certainly with her condition. Emma had brushed it off, saying she was perfectly able to dress herself and brush her own hair, as she had done nearly her entire life. But one morning Emma found herself struggling with her bodice, her growing belly preventing her from closing it without a little help. Shamefully she'd asked Mary Margaret for aid, who had been more than happy to help, and had remained in the room to aid with her gown and hair as well.

Emma was not entirely certain how this information reached Killian–but she was fairly certain Ruby had at least _some_ part in it–for by the time evening fell and Emma retired to their chamber, Mary Margaret knocked the door and once more offered assistance. Initially, she had refused help, but then Mary Margaret announced Killian had offered her the position of being Emma's Lady's Maid, at least for getting dressed and undressed. Any other time she was still primarily the Laundry Maid.

Emma found it almost a relief not having to struggle with her gown as she had the previous nights. She'd found it surprisingly easy to get used to the idea of having Mary Margaret aid her. Mary Margaret, in turn, confessed she missed being a Lady's Maid, and Emma knew she would feel bad refusing her help once the pregnancy was over.

Mary Margaret had been there when she'd first felt the baby kicks a few days ago and it was then Emma realised that no matter how much she wanted to, Mary Margaret considered her to be her Lady before her friend and that in this past month she had scarcely heard her friend call her by her name.

It had been quite the relief when Emma was finally able to convince her friend that they were still friends, no matter their position. And Mary Margaret agreed to call her Emma again, even if it was only when they were alone. Emma considered it a small victory.

Why David insisted on calling her Milady was beyond her, but she found herself too tired to bother today.

"Good morning," Killian's raspy morning voice sounded behind her. Only a few short weeks and it had quickly become her favourite sound, along with his laughter and the sounds he made when he came undone–though the latter was a sound that she had not heard as much as she would prefer. He told her it was safer for the pregnancy and the baby if they waited until after, and though she had agreed when he first made the argument, Emma quickly came to understand that nine months would be an excruciatingly long time to wait. But he already worried enough about her as it was, so she pushed those hormonal desires to the side.

It was not always easy, right now for example. He only bothered with pants and a white shirt that he'd only halfway buttoned–just enough to be decent, not enough to _not_ look downright sinful. He had not brushed his hair, so it laid over his forehead in an unruly mess.

"Morning," Emma smiled, accepting the cup of tea he handed her, its warmth almost scorching in her cold hands.

He greeted David and August with a nod of his head before laying his hand on her lower back and guiding her out of the cold Pool House. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No," Emma answered, staring at the snow-covered garden as they strolled leisurely through the hallway. "I was waiting for you and Grace to wake up."

"You could have simply awoken me when you woke," Killian chuckled, running his hands over his face and through his hair, ending in a stretch.

Emma smiled, reaching out to lay her hand on his growing beard. She'd mentioned it once or twice that he needed to trim it, and he told her in return that she was more than welcome to do it for him. Though she had to confess, Emma quite liked the roguish look. "I thought you could use a bit more sleep."

"I apologise for keeping you awake," He said and leaned into her touch.

"I am all right, are you?"

He didn't have nightmares very often anymore, but every now and then, one would torment him during his sleep. She didn't have to wake him up to help him chase it away; she simply snuggled into him and as his arm tightened around her, she knew the nightmare had passed.

"Yes," He promised.

"Good. Now, how would you like to spend your birthday?"

"With my wife and daughter by my side."

Emma smiled, standing tiptoe to bring her lips to his. "I believe that can be arranged. Happy birthday, my husband."

As easily as they always could, they melted into a kiss.

* * *

Emma knew Killian had not properly celebrated his birthday since Lady Milah died, last year he had not even been home for it, and Ruby informed her that it had been normal for him to be gone around that time. And now, even if he had acknowledged that it was, in fact, the day of his birth, he had asked for no presents, all he wanted was to spend the day with his daughter and his wife.

While Emma had agreed, Grace refused and made her father another scarf. Not that the old one was lost–Killian kept it safely in his drawer during the summer months and started wearing it as soon as the weather grew cold–it was simply that now that she was a year older, she knew how to make a proper scarf as she and Emma had practised often enough now.

When they went outside for a walk through the snowy landscape of their garden, Killian proudly wore the newly gifted scarf. As she walked beside him with her arm looped around his, Grace and Maple running out a few metres before them, she found herself staring at his profile.

He returned her stare with a smile and a kiss to her temple, thanking her for the day. He looked so much happier now and it still surprised her sometimes, the difference a year could make.

As evening fell, they dined together, and after Killian played the piano for Grace and Emma as they danced to the songs. Grace was allowed to stay up later, but after all the playing in the garden and the dancing, she fell asleep not too much later than her usual bedtime.

After he had carried his daughter to bed, her husband sat down next to her on the sofa toying with her hair, curling it around his finger, as she quietly read to him. His mind was no longer tormented, and so he did not ask her to read for him as often anymore. Many times he would take pleasure in watching her read, or sit by her side with his own book in his hands. But tonight he asked her to read, not as a distraction, but because he simply liked the sound of her voice and the way she read to him.

She closed the book on her lap as she finished it, folding her hands over it and looked up at him. He was smiling, and the way he looked at her, with his eyes filled with love, still made her heart pound in her chest.

Killian did not need to use words to tell her he loved her, it was clear in everything he did, in the way he looked at her. But sometimes he would use his words, he would hold her tight and whisper them in her ear. Guilt often overcame her for not returning the words, she didn't refrain from saying them because they weren't true, but because she was scared. Save for Grace, she'd never said them to anyone. She'd never had a reason to. And now she has, and it's terrifying.

Each time she thought she'd be brave enough to say them, the words died on her tongue and she held him closer instead.

Until now, it seemed to be enough for him, for he never asked her what was on her mind, he never looked disappointed when she did not say the words back.

"Emma?" He asked quietly, gently pulling her from her thoughts, and taking the book from her lap to set it aside. His hands were warm as they took hold of hers, soothingly rubbing his fingers over the back of her hands. "Is something troubling you?"

"No," Emma answered, a little too fast perhaps. She sighed then, looking away from him. "Maybe."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"I don't know how," She replied, wishing dearly she could bury herself in his arms to avoid this conversation, just for a little while longer.

"We have time." He smiled at her, leaning closer to press a kiss onto the tip of her nose. She knew the meaning of his words, they had all night if she needed it, and if she was not ready to share her thoughts tonight, they would have tomorrow, or the day after. But tonight was his birthday, so if there ever was a better time to say the words…

"I feel guilty," Emma started, holding tighter to his hands to find strength. "For I can see in your every action how much you love me. You often tell me such. And yet I've never returned the words, so I try to show it in other ways. And I don't know if that is enough for you, so that you know that I love you too, so very much. But I have no idea how to say the words… And –" She did not know how she ended up rambling like such but she knew it ceased when she caught him smiling widely at her. She sniffled, pulling one hand free to wipe at her nose. "What?"

Killian grinned widely. "I don't know if you realise it, darling, but you did just say the words."

"Oh." She laughed softly, hiding her face in her hands. "That is not how I wanted to say it."

Her husband chuckled, taking her hands away from her face and kissing her knuckles gently. "Would you like to try again, love?"

Emma nodded, finding the courage to tell him properly in the way he held her hands–and in the way he looked at her as though he would not love her less if she decided against saying the words now. But no, she loved him. She loved him so very much. And he deserved to know, deserved to hear the words.

"I love you, Killian."

He leant forward, and before he kissed her lips, he whispered, "I love you too, Emma."

* * *

As the weeks turned in to months, the weather grew warmer, and her tummy grew rounder, Emma slowly adjusted to her life as a Lord's wife. Killian had teased her once, reminding her of the day she told him she'd never be a Lord's wife, and Emma retorted that he had once told her he would never fall in love with her.

There were so many things they didn't know then.

Having watched society from her position as a servant for most of her life, it was surprisingly easy to blend in–certainly with Killian by her side. With Killian having disappeared from society almost entirely for the better part of seven years, gossip surrounding him was minimal: some older folks vaguely remembered him as the son of a wealthy Lord who disappeared from view after his wife died.

No one knew where his new wife came from. Of course, guesses were made, but none of the guesses included that she was once a serving girl. They never confirmed or denied any of them. It added to the mystery of the Joneses, and for the most part, the newlyweds were the talk of the season. Many found themselves curious about the happy couple. _With child so soon after the wedding? Perhaps he only married her because he got her pregnant? No, look at him, he loves her dearly_. Killian told her to let it all pass by her, next season they'd be old news. And so that's what she did.

Finding a friend in society proved to be more difficult, being unable to share too much of her past without giving people another thing to gossip about, made it difficult to answer easiest of questions– _where do you hail from? Who are your parents?_

Emma considered herself lucky that she still had Elsa, not as a tutor but as a friend. Though, in the months that passed, Elsa still taught her things such as improving her handwriting–and when Grace finished her tutoring with Mr Jefferson, Elsa taught them both how to play the piano like proper Ladies.

Grace quite enjoyed being taught society things, to no one's surprise. Grace did always adore the parties, the dancing, and meeting new people.

A few months after their own wedding, they received a wedding invitation from Mr Avery and his bride to be. Killian had chuckled and shaken his head before tossing it into the fire. It was the last they heard from him. Though Killian did briefly meet his new wife at a soirée Emma was unable to attend due to tiredness caused by her pregnancy. As it turned out, his new wife was even younger than Emma, and not nearly as beautiful.

Emma admitted she expected the man to be angrier after she had left him with only a letter, perhaps even challenge Killian to a duel for her hand. But instead he went on to find an even younger wife, and Emma could only pity her.

Grace did confess she missed Eleanor, upon which Killian sent out a letter that she was always welcome to visit Grace, but it remained unanswered. Emma reasoned Eleanor's father had something to do with it. Or perhaps with Eleanor having come of an age to marry, she no longer wanted to see Grace.

Killian spent more time with Robin, forming a close friendship. Emma certainly found him to be a better friend than Mr Avery had ever been. Eventually, Grace found a friend in Roland, Robin's son. He was only two years older than her and their fathers often joked that when they came of age, Roland ought to court Grace.

Once Grace had heard it; she promptly ignored it and somehow played the piano louder than she was before.

As she neared the later stages of her pregnancy, Grace remained close by her side making certain Emma had everything she needed. Much like the first time Emma met her, Grace started behaving far more mature for her age, offering assistance and aid whenever possible.

She started cutting ballet classes, and as the weeks progressed, slowly but surely she stopped going altogether. She refused to give a proper reason for giving up on the thing she'd loved for years, and insisted she simply had no desire to continue the classes. Neither Emma, nor Killian believed her, but Grace was adamant.

Instead of going to her ballet classes, each Sunday she and Emma sat by the fire in the Grand Salon, and Grace told a story to her rounded belly. Sometimes she read from a book, sometimes she would make one up. One thing Grace never lacked was imagination, Emma dearly hoped it would never change.

One Sunday afternoon at the end of May, after Grace had finished a made-up story of Princes and Princesses, Emma watched her curiously as she traced her little fingers over Emma's rounded tummy, her smile becoming a frown that grew more and more stern.

"What is wrong, Grace?" She asked quietly.

Grace looked up promptly, her frown disappearing quickly and making place for a sad expression. "What if you will love her more than me?"

"Oh Grace –" Emma started, but was quickly interrupted.

"Because I'm not your daughter and she is? Do you think you can love me, still?"

"Gracie," Emma spoke again, firmer this time. "I will love you and your brother or sister equally. It does not matter to me that he or she is my own blood and you are not. For I care for you as though you are my own, always have, and I always will."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise," Emma smiled. "And do you promise to love the baby even if it is a boy?"

"She won't be a boy, Emma," Grace rolled her eyes.

Emma laughed softly, adoring Grace's never-ending persistence that she would get a sister and not a brother. From the moment Grace learned about the pregnancy, she referred to the baby as her sister, refusing to acknowledge that she could be getting a brother as well. "And how would you know that?"

Grace shrugged at that, laying her hand on Emma's belly again. "I just do. Can I tell you a secret, Emma?"

"Of course." Emma smiled.

Grace bit down on her bottom lip, remaining silent for a brief moment. "Do you promise not to share it with father?"

Emma frowned, sitting up a bit straighter. "What is it, Gracie?"

"I must confess I am a bit jealous of the baby."

"Why is that?"

"Because she gets to call you mother," She explained quietly, nervously fiddling with her fingers as she spoke. "I wish I could call you that also."

"Oh," Emma said, uncertain what else to reply. Grace had never expressed desire to call her mother, nor had she ever done so–save for one time as she was deliriously babbling, and Killian had not been too happy about that.

"Would you mind terribly if I called you mother?"

Emma smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Grace's ear. " _I_ would not, but perhaps you should speak with your father about this first."

Grace smiled widely, vigorously nodding as she rose to her feet and quickly left the Grand Salon in search of her father, leaving Emma with an amused smile on her lips, shaking her head slightly.

* * *

Sharp stings of pain awoke her just a few moments after dawn. She hugged her round belly as she suppressed a groan. Her hands were met with cold, sticky fabric. Reaching above the covers she found her normally pale hands to be just another spot in the darkness.

"Killian."

"What?" He mumbled sleepily.

"Something is wrong," Emma answered, sitting up only to feel dizziness take over.

"What do you mean," He asked as he forced himself awake.

"I'm bleeding."

And suddenly he was up, moving fast until he was by her side and carrying her down the stairs to the servant bedrooms. His face was one of worry as he held her tightly against his chest, knocking Ruby's door so loudly she heard other servants' doors open as well.

Ruby spoke in a hushed voice, though worry had coloured her voice also. She couldn't hear their conversation; perhaps their low whispers weren't meant for Emma's ears to hear, or perhaps she had come to be too dazed to hear anything but the loud drumming of Killian's heart, where her ear rested against his chest as he desperately clung onto her.

And then suddenly there was darkness.

And frantic pleading.

And then darkness again.

Hushed whispers.

Followed by more darkness.

"Emma? Please, come back to me, my love."

Slowly regaining consciousness once more, Emma heard all objects on the large kitchen table being cleared, most of them clattering onto the floor as they hurried to empty it. Killian laid her down on top of it, but refused to release her; he held tightly onto her hand, brushing her hair that stuck to her sweaty skin from her forehead with his other hand.

Ruby's voice continued to sound like background orchestra music that was played too softly to properly enjoy it. She gave orders, and spoke words to Killian he did not truly seemed to grasp, not if his continues staring at Emma was any indication.

Emma found herself gazing back at him, but not truly seeing him. He spoke to her, but his voice seemed a mere incomprehensive murmur. She felt the pains in her abdomen, a sign of the end nearing, and all she wanted to do was look at her husband before she would never be able to anymore. But her vision forbade her.

"Killian!" Ruby finally yelled, making Emma snap out of whichever daze that held her in its grasp. It appeared to have the same effect on Killian, for he finally looked away from Emma. "Emma needs a physician!"

"I cannot leave her!" Killian barked in response. But Ruby was not taken aback, instead, she nodded, and lowered her voice to a calm and soothing tone.

"You are the only one here who knows how to properly ride a horse and knows where the physician's house is. It has to be you. She _will_ die if you won't." Behind him, Mary Margaret entered the kitchen, carrying Killian's coat, saying Thomas was preparing his horse for departure.

"Killian," Emma finally spoke up. He looked down upon her immediately. "It is all right," She whispered, reaching above her to cup his cheek. "Go, I will be here when you return. I–"

"Don't," He interrupted her before she could say it.

Emma simply smiled, her thumb tracing over his bottom lip. "I love you."

"Stop saying goodbye," He spoke coldly. "I will not say those words until I come back and you are safe."

"Killian, please."

He sighed, defeated, before leaning closer to gently kiss her lips. "I love you."

As soon as he was out of the door, Emma turned to Ruby. "I need you to help me deliver this baby."

" _No_ ," She said, brushing a cool cloth over Emma's forehead.

"Please."

"Emma, no, I _won't_. I would not even know how."

"Please," Emma pleaded once more. "Both of us will die if you don't at least try."

"Yes, and if I do try you might still die nonetheless. And Killian loses _yet_ another person he loves."

"Please, Ruby. _Try_."

Ruby sighed deeply, her mind made up as she ordered more towels to be fetched and water to be boiled.

The room was quiet suddenly with only Mary Margaret by her side–washing away the sweat from her forehead–, Ruby made room in the kitchen so that she could easily move through it. The large kitchen door opened and a sleepy Grace walked in, her eyes widening as she noticed Emma lying on the kitchen table.

"Emma?"

"Grace darling go back to bed," Mary Margaret said before Emma could speak up, rising from her chair and urging the young girl back outside, but Grace ducked underneath her arms and ran towards her.

"What is wrong?"

"I don't know, Gracie," Emma answered with feigned calmness as she felt another sting in her tummy. "You know I love you, yes?"

Realisation seemed to dawn upon Grace then. "You _promised_ , Emma. You promised you would not die."

"I know, darling," Emma smiled sadly, feeling the guilt of not being able to fulfil her promise. The door to the kitchen opened once more, as Ella returned with clean towels.

Mary Margaret once more tried to get Grace out of the room, laying her hands on the girl's shoulder, but Grace refused to let go of Emma's hand. "Grace you need to –"

"No!" Grace protested loudly. "I'm not leaving."

Ella, who had been through childbirth, and another serving girl, whose name escaped Emma at this moment, had witnessed one, they combined their knowledge, offering Ruby aid where possible. But when it all came down to it, Emma had to be the one strong enough to give birth.

And at this very moment, she doubted that she was.

Ruby's words of encouragement started to fade, she heard the talking, but she couldn't make out the words.

It felt like hours since Killian had laid her down on the table, days since her body started hurting. But everything happened so fast she doubted more than thirty minutes had passed.

Tears rolled over her cheeks as Emma looked up to the ceiling, wondering if it was too late to start believing in a God and pray to him for her baby to survive.

"Emma!" Ruby's demanding shout brought her back to her senses–most of them, at least.

"I'm here," She muttered, sighing into the cool touch of the cloth Grace pushed to her forehead.

"Good, I need you to push."

Emma obeyed most of Ruby's orders, if her body allowed it.

 _Deep breaths. Push. Breathe, Emma. Push._

She held on to Mary Margaret's hand, and found strength in Grace's presence beside her. Grace, who was so young, but remained strong and refused to leave Emma's side.

So she had to be strong as well.

For Grace.

For Killian.

And for their baby.

"Almost there, Emma," Ruby informed her. "One more push."

Emma wasn't quite sure how she managed it, her tired body feeling heavy and light at the same time. But it was her or the baby, and she'd be damned if she died before even giving this child a chance.

She turned her head to the side, her eyes meeting with Grace's worried ones. She had been silently crying this whole time; her eyes red, her cheeks tear-stained. But she remained quiet by Emma's side, washing her face with the cool water trying her best to keep the fever down.

Emma smiled at her, weakly reaching out to brush the tears from her cheek. "I am so proud of you, my darling. I love you so very much."

A sob escaped Grace, sniffing her nose. "Don't leave me, mommy, please."

And then Emma's eyes fell shut as darkness consumed her for the last time but not before she heard the faint sound of a baby crying.

* * *

The chilly, nightly air cut his tear-stained cheeks as he rode his horse through the street. It was a cold night for the time of year, it was not raining yet, but dark clouds started to roll over the skies. It almost seemed like an omen. He was not particularly superstitious, but he swore that if he saw a raven now, he'd purchase a revolver and take the thing down himself–no matter the cost.

He didn't remember buttoning up his coat–maybe Mary Margaret had done so for him–but he was glad he had at least some protection from the night.

The streets were empty and dark, with the moon only guiding his path as it emerged from the thick clouds. He passed only two men on his route, both drunk, and both had quite a bit to say about his reckless riding. Admittedly, Killian could have ridden his horse over the men, and still, he would not have stopped to apologise. Not when his wife's life was at stake.

He never quite liked the physician's house, it was the last of a series of row houses, the black door, and ghoulish door-knocker did not help the eerie feeling of the dark house. Killian knocked the door harshly with one hand, using the door-knocker with his other hand. He felt helpless, knocking the unanswered door for so long, and by the time he heard someone move to open the door he was certain his knuckles were bruised.

"Yes, yes, what?" The old man grumbled as he opened the door, a curious wife standing behind him wrapped up in her chamber robe. He was dressed already, as though he knew that when one came knocking his door in the middle of the night his services were required urgently.

"It is my wife. She's pregnant and bleeding. She needs help." Killian's voice sounded thick in his throat, wanting to speak quickly to make sure the man would hurry, but it felt as though his entire body wanted to give up. A sob fell from his lips. "Please. I cannot lose her too."

"I will fetch my horse."

"Please make haste," Killian pleaded as he watched the man leave towards the back of the house. His wife stepped forward with her bare feet onto the steps of the house and a compassionate look on her face. He'd seen her a few times at the social gatherings, but he'd never spoken to her.

"Go back to your wife, Mr Jones," She spoke quietly. "She needs you, and my husband will come as soon as he can. Winslow Manor, was it not?"

"Yes," Killian said hurriedly, already descending the steps back to his horse.

The ride home seemed to go slower, though he pushed his horse to its limits. The horse's hooves sounded louder in the empty streets, and far behind him he heard the thunder starting to rumble.

He always loved the driveway of the mansion, particularly in autumn when the colours of the leaves had all changed to red and yellow and orange. But this night he hated the seemingly endless path and cursed it. Pain shot up his feet as he jumped off his horse, the stinging tangible with every step he took.

He pushed the heavy door open, standing in an empty foyer and uncertain where to go. The mansion was quiet. Too quiet. It had been in uproar when he left. Every servant awake, wondering what was wrong. The kitchen had been loud, with pots and pans being tossed aside to make room. Ruby giving out orders to anyone nearby.

And now it was quiet.

If it hadn't been for the sound of his own ragged breathing, or his heart pounding loudly in his head, he would have wondered if he'd gone deaf on the way home.

He looked up as the kitchen doors opened, a deafening sound in the heavy silence.

Ruby stepped out of the kitchen slowly, her apron stained with blood he knew belonged to his wife, wiping her bloodied hands to a clean dishtowel. She had tears rolling over her cheeks, he could see the little droplets hanging from her chin and falling down onto the cloth of her dress.

"Killian–"

"Ruby, where is my wife?"

* * *

 _ **AN:** Merry (belated) Christmas, and a very happy New Year! I hope your 2O18 will be filled with love, joy, happiness, and lots of fanfiction ;)._

 _I understand this isn't a very festive chapter (you can yell to me about it if you want), but some of you already saw it coming that there hadn't been much angst, and well I do like me a little bit of angst!_

 _We have two more chapters to go, epilogue included, so I guess stay tuned to see if I actually did the thing ;)._

 _Lots of love, and a happy new year!_


	25. Twenty-five

_Late May, 1817._

Her eyes opened slowly, something she admittedly didn't expect to happen when she felt herself slipping away on the kitchen table, it took a moment for them to adjust to the darkness. She wasn't in the kitchen anymore, but in their room, few candles burned but the fireplace lit up the room just enough for her to see.

And then she saw Grace lying next to her, her little hand holding onto Emma's in her sleep, even in her sleep her grip was firm. It was a serene sight, then suddenly her mind caught up with her and she sat upright fast enough to make her head spin, to look around the room.

"Easy, lie down," Ruby quietly told her, her hands guiding Emma in lying back down on the bed. "She is all right, I promise."

"She?"

"It's a girl, Emma," She said with a smile. Though her smile was genuine, her cheeks were still red like she'd been crying until the very moment Emma woke up. "Mary Margaret is cleaning her up, she'll bring her up in a moment."

"Has Killian returned yet?"

"Not yet, you have not been unconscious that long," Ruby explained, brushing Emma's hair from her forehead soothingly. "I asked David to carry you upstairs so you would be more comfortable when you woke."

The door creaked softly upon opening, and as Mary Margaret entered the room, Ruby excused herself to get some clean clothes, wishing to rid herself from the still blood-stained apron she wore.

Though Ruby had advised her to keep lying down, as Mary Margaret approached with her newborn baby girl, Emma couldn't help but pop herself up on her elbow to greet her daughter.

She was beautiful, the most precious thing Emma had ever seen. She had a full head of blonde hair, gentle features, soft rounded cheeks, and a little pout.

"May I hold her?" Emma asked carefully, biting her lip.

"Lie on your side, I will place her in your arms."

She nodded and did as told, swallowing thickly as Mary Margaret laid the baby down, and then came the inevitable tears.

A soft "oh" was all Emma found herself able to say.

Mary Margaret offered to fetch something to drink and something to eat, but mostly it was an offer of privacy.

"Mommy?" Grace asked quietly, as the door closed, and forced herself awake.

"I'm here," Emma said, looking over her shoulder. "I'm all right, darling." Grace smiled, leaning closer to press a kiss against her cheek. "Have you seen your sister yet?"

"Briefly," Grace said, very carefully getting off the bed and sitting down on the floor on Emma's side of the bed.

"Do you like her?" Emma asked.

"Yes," Grace whispered, touching her sister's cheeks with the faintest touch of her fingertips. "She's beautiful."

"What do you think we should name her?"

Grace looked at her sister for a moment, tilting her head and sucking on her bottom lip. "Elizabeth." She decided then. "She looks like a Lizzie."

"Elizabeth," Emma answered quietly, "I like that."

Killian and she had not truly spoken about this, unknowing whether they would have a boy or a girl, they decided to wait until the child was born–perhaps involve Grace in it. But that was before, and they didn't know then how this night would go. She expected to go through childbirth with Killian by her side, to have him there when they first got to hold their little one. But it all went different than she expected. And yet, when she now held her little one in her arms, she found herself not caring.

Suddenly fast footsteps sounded in the hallway, followed by the door barging open–the baby stirred in her arms, but otherwise stayed fast asleep.

For all his haste in walking into the room, Killian now stood in the doorway, unmoving.

"You have another daughter, Killian," She whispered when he remained in his spot, and beckoned him. He closed the door quietly before making his way toward the bed, sitting down by it.

He looked at both his daughters before letting out a laugh as tears began to form in his eyes. "Are you all right, my love?"

"I believe so. Though, I am tired, and a physician would be welcome."

"He will be here shortly, I wanted to be with you as soon as I was able." She laughed softly as to not to disturb the baby. "Have you named her?" Killian asked, brushing his hand over Grace's tangled hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Grace thinks we should name her Elizabeth."

"Lizzie," Killian chuckled and nodded, "She sort of looks like an Elizabeth, yes."

"See!" Grace exclaimed, then quickly lowering her voice when the baby stirred in her sleep, "That's what I said."

Killian shared a look with her, and then it seemed decided, the three of them collectively agreeing that the beautiful little girl should be named Elizabeth.

A knock on the door made them all look up, Ruby entered the room with the physician following closely. Ruby lit more candles to allow for an easier examination, and Killian walked outside the room with Grace to give them some privacy.

Emma had only met the physician once or twice or so. He was an old, impatient man and not the kindest of men either, but when he concluded–after an extensive examination of both Emma and her baby daughter–that they would both be all right, so long as she rested well, Emma felt comforted nonetheless.

He could not tell her how the bleeding happened, but he knew she had been lucky, not many mothers made it out of a childbirth like that.

After the man left, Killian re-entered the room, without Grace this time, and took place by her bedside once more.

"Grace fell asleep again so I carried her to bed," He told her quietly.

"It was a lot of excitement for one night," Emma agreed.

Killian looked a little lost when she asked him whether he wanted to hold his daughter. Somehow Emma knew he was thinking of the time Grace was born. He told her that he rarely held her, rarely fed her, he wasn't there for many of her firsts, and now he had a chance to do it all over again, to do it right this time.

He looked so handsome with a child in his arms, a smile so bright she fell in love with him all over again. He gently caressed his daughter's soft, blonde hair, smiling lovingly the whole time. As she opened her eyes, he held his breath, and as her big blue eyes looked up at him, a whispered 'oh' was all he could manage.

He sang for her when she started to whimper, his warm voice easily lulling her back to sleep. And she must've fallen asleep as well, for when she opened her eyes again, the curtains were drawn to block out the sun.

Killian walked in the room not soon after, and supported her when she walked to the Grand Salon on shaking legs. Mary Margaret sat with Elizabeth in her arms, Grace directly next to her with a curious Maple on her lap, the dog was gentle as it sniffed the baby's head, as if she knew how fragile a baby was.

When Emma sat down in the couch, Mary Margaret placed her daughter in her arms and went to fetch something for her to eat.

It was how their day was spent, doctor's orders for Emma to rest were taken very seriously by the household, and each time she required something, someone else quickly rose to fetch it for her.

Mostly they all sat on the couch. Killian next to her, Grace playing with her dolls and Maple–every so often getting up on her feet to look at her sister, kissing her forehead, and sitting back down.

Though he looked at his daughter with love and devotion, something tugged at her, a thought she felt ridiculous for having. A thought, that once Grace had gone to bed and left them to sit in silence, completely overshadowed any other thought.

"Would you like to hold her?" Emma asked quietly. From the moment she'd woken up, she'd held their daughter in her arms, nurturing her, nursing her, falling in love with her. Killian and Grace nearly always by her bedside. Grace looked utterly adorable with her baby sister in her arms, so careful, so tender–becoming a big sister suited her. Killian often looked at his daughter as though she was made of diamonds, a precious thing to be cherished, making one's life so much richer.

He sighed happily, taking Elizabeth from Emma's arms. "Every day, for the rest of my life," He whispered and traced his finger over her little rounded cheeks.

"She's fed," Emma said, standing up and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as she spoke. "I will be retiring to our chamber, goodnight."

"Emma? What is it?" He reached for her wrist before she'd stepped too far away. "Please sit down, love, your legs are shaking. Tell me what's wrong?"

Emma sighed deeply as she sat down again. Her entire body was shaking. It was as the physician had said, she needed rest, her body needed rest, and she shouldn't be walking around too much yet. "I am sorry I could not give you a son..."

Killian chuckled. " _That_ is what troubles you?"

She blushed at that, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Of course, he would not love her any less for this. Of course, he would not be angry for something that was so out of her hands. But it was still a foreign feeling to her, having someone who loved her so unconditionally. "I just…" She started, trying to explain herself. "I know how important it is to have a son."

"What is important is that you are alive, that my daughter is alive. That I am lucky enough to have yet another beautiful girl to call mine." He smiled and laid his arm around her, tugging her closer against him to kiss her temple. "I'm not a King, my darling, I do not need an heir, you could give me a hundred daughters and I would still consider myself to be the luckiest, and the happiest man to roam this earth. My beautiful wife, quit your worrying and look this incredible gift you have given us..."

Elizabeth lied peacefully asleep in his arms, the corners of her little mouth twitching into an almost smile as she slept. "How can you possibly think I would want for anything other than this?"

Emma smiled then, cupping his face with her hand and brushing a kiss against his lips. "How have I managed to get this lucky?"

"I look at you, I look at Grace, and now Elizabeth, and I promise you, I ask myself that very same question. Every single day," He replied, returning her kiss. "Now, I will bring our daughter to bed, and then I will help you, all right?"

"All right," She confirmed, taking one last look at Elizabeth as though she hadn't spent all day looking at her little face already, before Killian stood up and brought their daughter to her nursery.

* * *

It only took a few days before she found herself well enough to walk around again, and after having spent most of her time sitting in bed, or on the couch, as her body healed, that was a welcome change. Emma knocked the door of his study quietly, uncertain whether he minded being disturbed or not. Over the last few months the household collectively started calling his office a study. Admittedly, Emma hadn't a clue as to why, perhaps because it made the room seem more accessible–Killian _did_ allow people in there now. Servants were allowed to clean it, Grace was allowed to barge in without knocking whenever she pleased.

"In," Killian's voice sounded.

The study had not particularly changed, it was still filled with books, a trinket here and there. These days he used it mostly to write letters instead of looking over documents for his employers. He looked up from his desk with a smile as he saw her enter, closing the door behind her. "Are you well, love?"

"Yes," Emma answered. He opened his arms as she stepped closer and pulled her into his lap with a grin.

He smiled as he drew her near for a kiss. "Good."

"I thought I could join Ella in going to the market. I have been inside the house for too long," Emma said before she could get too lost in his kiss.

Killian nodded, leaning his forehead against hers. "Of course," He murmured, "Will you be all right? I could come along, let me finish this letter first."

"No, that's all right." Emma looked at the letter before her, finding it was addressed to her. "You still write the letters?" She asked quietly as she took the unfinished letter between her fingers and began to read. He expressed worry for her, described his nightmares of losing her, he wrote how much he loved her. How much he loved their daughter. How grateful he was to her for being a mother to Grace. She turned back to face him. "You _can_ talk to me, Killian."

"Forgive me, my darling. I've not once expressed any feeling in seven years, I am trying, but sometimes it's easier for me to write them down."

"Have you written many letters, then?"

"No, it's the second one. When it becomes particularly hard to express my thoughts properly," Killian smiled at his hands toying with hers on her lap. "You were ill, a few months back, you slept for days, I thought I would lose you. And then again while giving birth. I still find it difficult to outright tell you, or anyone, that I am afraid."

Emma nodded, bringing his hands to her lips and kissing them softly. "I understand, if writing the letters makes it easier for you, then you should, as long as you know that you can simply talk to me about this as well."

"I know, my love, I would've let you read it eventually." He sighed deeply, leaning his head back for a moment as he swallowed; gathering courage. "It seemed you were dying, and for a brief, selfish moment, I wondered what would happen to _me_ if you did," Killian confessed. "You have changed me so much, but I doubt I would be strong enough to go through that pain again, to feel so lost again, and not allow myself to tumble back into the darkness I've lived in for all these years. I wondered what would happen to Grace, if I did. I feel guilty for having these feelings, when _you_ were the one suffering."

Emma nodded, understanding. "Just because we experienced different pains during those moments, it does not diminish either of our feelings. You were scared, and that's all right. I confess I worried for you too. I did not want you to be alone again, I did not want to leave you, I did not want to leave Grace. I felt guilty too, when I promised Grace I would live through childbirth, and still she held my hand even if I wasn't keeping that promise."

"It was not your fault."

"And neither is it yours to have had these thoughts," She said, tracing her thumb over his cheek. "I understand you feel guilty for any selfish thoughts you may have had a few days ago, but in this very moment, I am all right. Our family has grown, we are alive, we are healthy, and any thoughts, any actions that have passed do not matter any longer."

A knock on the door made them both look up. "In," Killian said.

Ella opened the door–immediately looking to the floor upon seeing their intimacy. "I am sorry for the intrusion, Milady told me to come fetch her as soon as I was ready."

"Of course, no need to apologise," Emma said, climbing out of her husband's lap and giving him a goodbye kiss. "We will continue this conversation, all right?"

"Be careful," Killian said against her lips before returning her kiss.

"Always."

The morning sun was warm on her skin, the air was fresh, the wind caressing her face almost welcome, the feeling of going outside again was overwhelmingly liberating. Of course she loved her children and she did not mind spending time with them–far from it. But she hated being bedbound, or bound to the couch, as the case may be. She dearly missed going on walks, (she even missed horseback riding, just a little bit).

So when Ella said she was going to the market, Emma reasoned that by now she was healed enough, and she would be able to go on a small trip to the market.

"Would you mind terribly if we stopped by my daughter after?" Ella asked quietly after a brief moment. She sounded as though all this time she had been silently debating whether or not to speak up, and Emma hated that the people she once considered friends were now scared to talk to her in the same way as they used to. "I hadn't had the chance to give my stepmother my wages of last month," She explained then.

"Of course," Emma said with a smile, locking her arm with Ella's. "Let us do that first then, lead the way."

On the way there, their conversations often fell silent, it did not matter which conversation Emma initiated, Ella always kept her responses brief and polite, mostly ending her sentence with 'milady'. And so, apart from an encouraging 'good luck' at her stepmother's front door, she allowed a silence to fall.

Emma watched from a few steps below as Ella nervously knocked the door, shifting her weight from one leg to another. Once on a sleepless night, she and Ella had sat before the fire and Ella had told her all about Lady Tremaine. It was a story of jealousy, hatred, and mostly sadness.

Lady Tremaine–though she only received the title after marrying Ella's father–was quite possibly the worst mother figure Emma could ever imagine. After losing the estate upon his death they moved to a much smaller townhouse, where now-orphaned Ella worked as a servant–giving Lady Tremaine the illusion of still being of importance, when truly her title was all she had left. But soon enough money became an issue and she sold her stepdaughter to a wealthy family.

After a scandalous pregnancy caused by the wealthy family's eldest son, Ella was forced to move back to live in Lady Tremaine's 'care'. Barely a day after Ella had given birth, she had already attempted to sell her stepdaughter once more, but no one wanted a maid with such a smeared reputation.

Except for Killian, who at Ruby's insistence was in the midst of hiring more servants, for the workload had become too much for the few remaining servants to handle. Though, he refused to _buy_ her. And thus Ella made a deal with her stepmother; any wages she made would be sent back home in return for the promise that they would take care of her daughter.

Emma had to admit: she was somewhat curious to see whether her stepmother was truly as evil as Ella claimed to be.

The door opened, an older woman with a scowl that sent shivers over Emma's back eyed Ella up and down before crossing her arms. "You are late."

"I know, I am sorry. Our household has been shaken up with–"

"I hope your wages will make up for your tardiness." Lady Tremaine said, speaking up before Ella could even finish her sentence. As the woman glanced at Emma, she suddenly straightened her back. Though the Jones household was not necessarily an influential one anymore, it easily could be–if Killian cared more for society that is. He still had the income, the lands, the title to make people straighten their back and attempt to appear better than they were.

"Yes," Ella said quietly, taking the pouch of coins from her pocket and handing it to her.

"Mommy!" A little child came running down the stairs behind her stepmother. Her hair was blonde like her mother's was, and though Lady Tremaine had a clear distaste for her stepdaughter, her step-granddaughter seemed to be well-taken care of as per the arrangement; she wore a fine gown, and in her little hands she carried toys.

"Hello, darling." Ella knelt down in front of her and pulled her daughter into a tight hug. "Mommy cannot stay for long, though."

"Oh," Alexandra said, her lips forming into a pout.

"Yes," Lady Tremaine nodded solemnly, though she appeared a bit kinder now, "It is time for you to go now."

Ella kissed her daughter goodbye, turning her back to Alexandra proved to be difficult, her lip trembled as she walked down the stairs. No mother wants to leave their child with someone so awful, but what other choice did she have. When Emma carefully reached for her arm, Ella allowed her without stiffening this time.

"I'm sorry," She whispered.

"Please, do not apologise. I would find it terribly difficult to leave my children with her too."

"Yes," Ella sighed, wiping at an escaping tear with her sleeve.

"Forgive me, but I almost didn't believe that the money you sent home was actually used for your daughter. I would've thought they would've used it all for themselves and nothing for Alexandra."

"They used to, at the very beginning," Ella said. "I mentioned it to Mr Jones once, I was not certain he would care at all–or even listen to what I was saying for that matter. But a week later I received a letter in my stepmother's handwriting, it listed all the things my wages could afford: food, a new dress, a new toy. It was not until much later that I learnt Mr Jones had paid a visit to my stepmother. I do not know what he said to her, but it must've made an impression, for ever since then, each month, a week or so after I've delivered my wages, I receive a letter listing everything my wages afforded for Alexandra."

Emma smiled, she loved learning new things about Killian, specifically things he would not tell her because he thinks they do not matter, but have had such an impact on other people. She loved learning of his caring side in his most selfish days.

Upon returning to the mansion, Emma paced through the nursery with Elizabeth in her arms after having nursed her. She loved watching her daughter become sleepy, her blue eyes staring up at her until they slowly started falling shut.

"Here you are," Killian said quietly upon entering the room. Emma smiled at him when he came to stand behind her and rested her head against his shoulder. He laid his arms around her, careful not to disturb Lizzie, and kissed her cheek.

"Sorry, I missed her already," Emma laughed softly, snuggling closer into his embrace. "Killian, I have been thinking… No mother should be separated from her child."

"No," He agreed, "She should not."

"Yet, Alexandra lives with Ella's horrible stepmother..."

"What are you asking, Emma?" She remained quiet at his question, knowing he understood her without her having to say it. "If I allow Alexandra to remain here, I cannot possibly send Mary Margaret away should she desire a child. And the way she carries and looks at Elizabeth, I _know_ she desires a child."

"She does," Emma replied quietly. "Our home is large enough, darling."

"You know I cannot refuse you anything when you call me that."

"Yes," She grinned, "I do."

"May I at the very least think of it, before I allow two more children in this household?"

"Of course."

* * *

"I have a gift for you," Emma announced as she entered the kitchen where she'd ordered for Mary Margaret, David, and Ella a few days later. "I have convinced my husband to allow more children in this household."

The three of them looked at her curiously as she took a seat among them, uncertain of her meaning. "Ella, I've already told Thomas to prepare a carriage, you and I will fetch Alexandra and her belongings in an hour. As for you," She turned to David and Mary Margaret. "Killian has agreed for you to have a child of your own, without sending Mary Margaret away."

"Oh Emma –" Mary Margaret laughed, covering her mouth in disbelief.

"Killian will hire Lady Elsa's sister as a governess," Emma continued, "And when your children are old enough, they will receive a proper education alongside Grace and Elizabeth."

"And what of Mr Jefferson?" Asked Mary Margaret with a frown.

"He will be sent away. Killian shall write him a recommendation letter, and if need be, he will help him find another family," Emma explained, reciting what her husband had told her. "Killian says he is good enough with Grace, but he does not see the man make an attempt at teaching four children."

Ella laughed softly, the disbelief that had kept her quiet slowly fading. "Can this truly be?"

"Of course," Emma reached across the table to take Ella's hand in hers and squeezed it reassuringly. "I would not lie to you."

A sob escaped the girl, she brought her hand to her mouth as she started laughing and crying at the same time. "I cannot believe this, thank you!"

* * *

She thought it odd watching two people she has known for so long, and had watched fall in love, finally be able to look at each other lovingly, hold each other's hand, even share a modest kiss, and she wondered if that's how it felt for them when she and Killian married.

She could certainly relate to the happiness radiating from their faces, their smiles never fading. When she leant into Killian with a happy sigh he laid his arm around her and kissed her.

Finally, after nearly a year, two people she considered dear friends, were married. Emma had apologised more than once for being the reason of them constantly postponing their wedding. But privately, David had told her he was happy the wedding was delayed so long, for this meant he could save up enough coin to buy his bride-to-be the wedding dress she deserved–a proper gown, in the colour she wanted, not one she already possessed.

Grace danced with Alexandra, patiently teaching her how to dance properly–as ladies should–but Alexandra often simply ended up jumping around with a loud giggle instead.

Emma smiled at the scene before her as she rose from her chair and excused herself quietly. Mary Margaret and David's wedding seemed to be the perfect opportunity for Anna's first day, but admittedly, after having spent so much time with Elizabeth, leaving her daughter in another woman's care–no matter how nice she was–kept her mind occupied more than she would've liked to admit.

"Love?" Killian asked, having followed her out in the hallway, and closed the door behind him, engulfing the hallway in silence.

"I only wanted to see if Elizabeth needed anything," Emma confessed, waiting for him to walk beside her so she could lay her arm around his.

"She'll be fine," He promised, but walked with her nevertheless. "I told Anna to come downstairs should Lizzie require to be nursed or if anything was wrong at all."

She nodded and laid her head against his shoulder, the path ahead in the hallway was illuminated by the rays of sunlight falling through the windows. Dust speckles floating around, glittering like stars. She adored the mansion like this, calm, serene, beautiful.

"I do not want to miss a single moment of it," Emma whispered quietly, once having reached the foyer. "Soon she will be too tall for me to hold, or she will not need me anymore."

Killian chuckled, ceasing their walk before the staircase and gesturing for her to sit down. He knelt before her, taking her hands within his. "As long as you love her, she will need you."

She laughed softly, staring at their hands. "I've plenty of love to give. I wonder if she will want it."

"Ah," He nodded solemnly and made her face him. "Have I not told you what an extraordinary mother you are? I could have _sworn_ I did. But worry not, for I will continue to remind you until you believe me."

Emma giggled and shook her head slightly. "Fool."

Killian grinned then, knowing that his silliness had worked to lift her spirits. "I would agree, but please do not tell the staff, I would hate for them to get ideas."

"I love you," she sighed, leaning closer to kiss him gently.

"And I you," He spoke against her lips, returning her kiss. "Emma, I promise you, I've never known a woman more capable of caring for children. Whether it be her own or someone else's. I know you are a good mother for our children, today, tomorrow, in five years, in ten years. Please, please, worry not. I know in my heart, that as soon as our daughter learns to speak, she will tell you how much she loves you."

"And you."

"And me," Killian agreed. "I also promise you, you are not the only one with this fear. I've missed out on so much with Grace, that I wonder if I am even doing everything right this time."

"I know you are doing everything you can–we both are–that should be enough. And we have Anna, should we lack in anything."

"Yes." He nodded. "Darling, I know how much you would like to be with our daughter, but there is this little thing called trust, and right now you need to trust that Anna is capable enough to take care of her for a few hours."

"Very well," Emma sighed, standing up again.

"Good. " Killian smiled brightly, resembling an excited child more than anything else, and extended his hand. "Now, my wife, may I have the next dance?"

Emma giggled as she let him lead her back to the ballroom. "Yes, my husband, you may."

* * *

 _AN:_

 _Hi, I'm so sorry for the long wait on this, I unfortunately got very busy (also, a bit troubled by writer's block-although my issues mainly lie with not_ wanting _this fic to end, and thus not writing its ending, oops)._

 _This chapter had to be a bit fluffier to me, a few domestic scenes, showing how life continued after the baby, the changes that were made. Tying up some loose ends in the process, with having a few questions answered, why can't Alexandra live in the mansion, why haven't David and Mary Margaret married yet, a few more answers in regards to Killian writing the letters, and them having some important conversations, I hope I haven't left any questions unanswered now :) (you're always more than welcome to ask them if you still have any, though!)_

 _There is one more chapter, an epilogue, which I hope to be able to post very soon, but I admittedly have a hard time letting go of this fic. I'm so grateful for all of you, the friendships I've made, I cannot even begin to say how thankful I am, so I will wait until the final chapter to say my thank you's (that buys me some time to find the proper words ;))._

 _But as always, I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you ever so much for reading!_


	26. Epilogue

_July, 1821._

Two years after Elizabeth, Emma found herself pregnant for the second time. And 10 weeks later she was no longer pregnant. Once again cramps had woken her up in a small puddle of blood. A physician had been fetched but there was nothing that could be done. Emma remained in bed for a week, until the bleeding stopped and she no longer felt ill.

She found herself stricken with grief for a baby she did not realise she had until three weeks prior, a desperate longing for another baby in their growing family had overcome her. Killian comforted her, told her they would try again, if that is what she desired. But Emma also knew that somewhere deep down, he was relieved, even if he would never say it out loud. He had been rightfully worried when she was pregnant with Elizabeth, and though he loved their child with all his heart, he repeatedly told her he never wanted Emma to go through that again.

In one of her walks to clear her head, the crisp winter air making her tears feel even colder on her cheeks, she found a young boy. His cheeks had been bruised, his lip cut, and he was begging for scraps from a local bakery. She watched as the boy was chased down the street by an angry baker's wife, and quietly followed him once the woman was back inside. Emma found the boy seeking shelter from the snow underneath some garbage and discarded wood. As she crouched down to watch him, his cut lips were turning blue, his arms were wrapped around his skinny legs, and he looked tired. It tugged at her heart, knowing that if she did not help this boy, he would not make it through the winter. Hell, he would not make it through this week.

She spoke to him as though he were a wounded animal–and with the feral look in his eyes, he certainly resembled one. He eased at the comforting sound of her voice, and told her his name was Henry, he was five, had run away from the orphanage where they abused and beat him as they saw fit. Henry had flinched when Emma extended her hand to him, but eventually his dirty, cold, slender fingers wrapped around her hand and he allowed her to take him home.

It took one pleading look at Killian for him to agree that the boy needed help, and while she brought the boy to the kitchen, Killian ordered for a bath to be drawn and a guest room to be prepared.

As Emma put the boy to bed, clean and with a full stomach, Grace walked into the room, Elizabeth in tow. They were each carrying as many of their own toys as they could, and when they laid them down on the floor, Grace solemnly informed him they would play tomorrow. Henry had given a shy smile as he watched his new sisters march out of the room again.

One year later, Emma found herself pregnant once again. Though this time she had decided to keep it to herself for a while, until she noticed Killian treat her with gentle care–more so than usual–offering her breakfast in bed, carrying heavy things for her, insisting she rest more. It wasn't until she sat him down that he confessed to knowing she hadn't bled in four months. And it wasn't until that moment she realised that he looked forward to becoming a father once more, even if it terrified him.

Five months later, after a smooth pregnancy and birth, a healthy baby boy came into their lives. They named him James, though, he would often be called Jamie instead. That same evening, all six of them–and Maple–had sat in their room on their bed, watching in quiet awe as the newest addition to their family slept peacefully in Emma's arms. Surrounded by her four children and loving husband, Emma realised that for an orphan with no family or friends, she had quite a lot of both now.

At the memory of that day, a smile formed on Emma's lips.

With Jamie in her arms, Emma stood in the open door of Grace's room, leaning against the doorframe, watching as Killian laid in Grace's bed. Killian often, if not all nights–save for the nights they had social obligations–read to them before bed. And more often than not, the four of them would fall asleep in that position; Gracie snuggled up against one side, Henry on the other, and Lizzie on his chest.

Instead of waking them, Emma usually stood by the door, with their other son in her arms, watching her beautiful family for a quiet moment. And Lord knew, with six children–four of them being her own, Ella's daughter Alexandra, and Leo, David and Mary Margaret's child, only ten months younger than Lizzie– quiet moments weren't all that common anymore; He also knew she wouldn't trade it for the world.

A restless kick to the leg from Henry woke Killian from his slumber with a quiet grunt. A smile formed on his lips as he caught his wife standing by the door. Carefully he rose from his spot on the bed, Lizzie held tightly against his chest.

Carrying his children to bed and tucking them in was part of their evening ritual as well, first Lizzie, then Henry, and then they brought Jamie to his nursery together. After which they sat down in the Grand Salon and Ruby brought them a cup of tea before they went to bed.

"Should we have another one?" Emma teased as she finished her tea, pulled her tired legs up on the sofa and snuggled into Killian's side.

He chuckled as he laid his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her hair. "If that is what you desire, though I believe we will need a bigger bed. There is no possible way five children and myself will fit onto Grace's bed."

Emma laughed softly, masking a yawn, and shook her head. "No, I do not think so either."

Killian smiled at her, tucking her hair behind her ear. He still loved her as much as those first days, more even, if that was possible. But his love equalled hers.

"Let us go to bed, my wife," He said. She nodded gratefully. "I'll be there in a moment."

She sat down at the vanity Killian had bought for her a few months ago, when he insisted that standing up too long wasn't good for her, and stared at her reflection as she brushed through her hair. Somehow she looked equal parts exhausted and contented. Her hair wasn't as voluminous as it often was, there were dark circles under her eyes, but the smile on her lips was genuine and though the exhaustion was most visible in her tired eyes, they were bright and happy.

Even after brushing her hair, she thought she still looked a bit dishevelled, but to Killian, she would always look –

"Beautiful," He whispered in her ear, looking at her in the mirror. She giggled as he kissed her neck. "Are you ready for bed, my love?"

Emma nodded and let out a surprised shriek when he scooped her up from her chair and carried her to their bed.

"What was that about?" She giggled as he laid her down on the bed and hovered above her with a mischievous grin.

"If I recall correctly, you enjoy that form of transportation." Emma laughed at his words, his arched eyebrow, laying her hand over her face and shook her head. He kissed the back of her hand, brushing his nose along her fingers. His voice was a low whisper as he continued, "I only want to see you smile, darling."

"Then you have succeeded in your efforts," She said, equally quiet, lifting her hand to cup his face.

"Now, if only I could kiss your troubles away."

Emma grinned coyly, "I would not say no to an attempt."

She loved the way his eyes darkened, when the look in his eye changed from that soft, loving look to something that told her he would have her; ravish her; make her moan his name. The thought alone gave her that familiar feeling low in her belly. It had been a few months since he'd touched her that way, allowing time for her body to heal after childbirth, but she could see the hunger in his eyes.

And she missed his touch.

He almost succeeded in kissing her worries away, with each kiss on another spot of her body, her troubles faded to the back of her mind. He seemed to mark a path of kisses down her body, her breasts, until there were no more thoughts of whether or not she was a good mother to her children. Her tummy, until she no longer wondered if she was a good wife to him. Her thighs, until she worried no more if her body hadn't meant to be for bearing children.

Between her thighs, until she forgot her name.

She liked it when he did that. The sheepish confession had earned her a wide, devious grin.

Over the years they'd explored each other's body until they know it as well as their own. They learnt what the other liked, she learnt how to please him in return, but he never asked for it–he valued her release above his. And a red-cheeked conversation with a few of her closest friends, once more revealed just how lucky she was.

He licked and teased her, pulling away each time she came close, until he had her begging him to let her come. Her fingers dug into the sheets, the fabric bunching up in her hands. Higher, and higher, and higher, until she tumbled over the edge, a curse of his name following quickly.

As much as she loved him pleasing her with his mouth, the feeling of his naked body against hers was her favourite. The way she felt whole, skin to skin; loving kisses between pants; the touches–him. She loved every bit of it.

He often fell asleep before her, and she didn't mind. She loved watching him sleep, there were some demons that haunted him still, but as he slept, his face eased, free of worry. Emma wondered if he would ever forgive himself for the things he'd said and done. Maybe one day, until that day she would remind him every moment that his family had already forgiven him.

Killian still talked in his sleep sometimes, but rather than waking her up with restless pleading for her not to go, he expressed his love for her, his children, or the apple pie she made so well.

Tonight, he told her that he loved her, just before she fell asleep as well.

* * *

"Mother?"

"Yes, Gracie?" Despite not being her own child, Grace always called her that. She'd started doing that as soon as Lizzie had been old enough to talk; though Lizzie had been taught the words mother and mommy, Lizzie often copied her older sister. So, when she started calling Emma by her name, instead of mother, Grace started saying mother as well.

The first time Henry called her mother, instead of Emma, he started giggling–and it had filled her heart with joy. To call Killian father took a bit longer, but Killian did not love him any less for it. With time and patience, Henry soon learned that he'd found a family in the Winslow Manor.

"Can we swim today?"

The summer had been particularly hot this year, too hot for riding as they usually would. And these last few summers, since Killian had ordered the pool cleaned and fixed up, Grace had taken to swimming more and more.

Never having learned how to swim, Killian had tried to teach Emma once, one hot summer evening when everyone had gone to bed already. Rather than wearing a waistcoat as should've been proper, he'd only worn drawers. And though she'd lain with him many times before, seeing him with his back to her, his bare skin coated in moonlight and candlelight, it'd still affected her. When she'd come to stand behind him, pressing her lips to his shoulder, he'd sighed into her touch, taking her arms to lay them around him.

They'd stood like that for a while, in the warmth of the pool house–each other–staring out into the night, before he'd turned around and laughed at the pastel blue dress she'd worn, the only one most suitable for swimming–or so she thought; "darling, that dress will float up and drown you."

And then he'd peeled it off her body, letting it fall around her ankles, smiling at her as she stood bare before him. When he was naked as well, he'd stepped into the pool. She'd followed him, off the steps, into the warm water, until it reached her waist and she abruptly stopped. He'd taken her hands with the promise of holding tightly.

She'd clung to him a little too tightly–arms wrapped around his neck, legs around his waist–and he'd found the situation utterly hilarious. She'd hated swimming, hated having her head under water. But she'd _quite_ enjoyed kissing him, and feeling his arousal grow against her.

So she hated swimming, but she did love sitting on the couch by the pool with a cup of tea watching her children–as well as Alexandra and Leo–play in the water. Anna had taught them all how to swim; Henry and Alexandra too, Leo didn't particularly like swimming either, but he did quite enjoy sitting on the steps and making huge splashes with his hands.

Emma loved her busy household, happy children playing, laughing, being loved.

Killian came to sit next to her, setting a cup of tea on the end table next to her–honey, no sugar. She shifted so that he could take his son from her arms. He never looked more handsome than he did with a child in his arms, smiling down at them as though they were his whole world. Emma pulled her legs up on the cushions, and pressed a kiss to her husband's cheek.

"You've gotten another few grey hairs," She chuckled, stroking her fingers through his hair.

"Doesn't make me any less handsome, now does it?" He teased with a wink.

Emma shook her head. "Certainly not." If anything, it made him more handsome, those few grey strands of hair above his ear.

"Thought so." Her husband smirked, leaning into her touch. A shriek caught their attention, Lizzie stood by the side of the pool with Grace next to her, and Henry on the other side.

"Go on, Lizzie, jump!" Grace encouraged her sister. Anna stood in the water, her arms outstretched, patiently waiting for her to jump. But Lizzie only giggled loudly, jumping up and down in the most adorable way as she mentally prepared herself for the jump. Unlike her older sister, Lizzie hadn't been too fond of the water, sitting mostly by the side when Anna taught Henry and Alexandra to swim.

"You can do it, darling," Killian said. Lizzie jerked her head up at him, and when her father gave her an encouraging nod, she smiled widely at him before biting her lip and taking the leap.

Coming up above water, with Anna's help, she burst out in loud laughter, "Again, again, again!"

Emma smiled, leaning her head onto her husband's shoulder, her Jamie's little hand wrapped around her finger, the laughter of her daughters and other son filling the pool house.

"Are you happy, my love?"

"Yes," Emma answered, sighing contentedly, "So very happy."

* * *

 **AN: It's finally here, the epilogue of this story. Sorry about the wait guys, I've opened my own store recently, and it's keeping me _very_ busy. But here is! It's a little shorter than the other chapters, but that's what an epilogue is supposed to be, right?**

 **Once I've finally found my rhythm again, I will definitely look into finishing the story that contains Killian's letters, and a small one/twoshot about Grace (when she's around 18), if there's still some interest in that.**

 **Well... it's been a journey, but we've reached our destination. I would still like to say a little goodbye to this fic.**

 **First things first, let me say a BIG thank you to everyone who has read, commented, kudos'ed, yelled at me/talked to me about, flailed about, recommended, silently, or loudly loved this fic. I could not have done it without your support and I am so grateful to those who have joined me in this journey, whether you were there from the beginning, started a year ago, a week ago, will start it now that it's finally finished, I'm grateful.**

 **I've made so many friends because of this fic, and to you, thank you as well, for listening to me complain pretty much about every chapter. Without your support, I'd probably still be complaining.**

 **I also definitely want to say thank you to Mary, for your incredible fanart, to Irene, for your amazing photoset, and of course to Rose, for giving me my first ever fanart!**

 **Also a thank you to Miranda and Lianne for proofreading when I needed it.**

 **I can never express just how grateful I am for all of you, for giving me a chance to tell this story, for allowing me to grow and make mistakes.**

 **I know I said I'd try to find better words, but no words I know are going to express how truly happy and grateful I am for this fic.**

 **So thank you, thank you, thank you!**


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